Fire at Will
by o Mischief Managed
Summary: AU. After her mother's arrest, Annabeth Chase sought to clear her family name and became one of the CIA's most skilled assassins. But her newest target, 23-year-old Percy Jackson, drags her into the world of Olympus — the country's largest criminal organization. Soon she'll have to choose between a new and dangerous love, and the reputation she's worked so hard to achieve.
1. Prologue

**Okay, so I've been planning this for a while now and I was gonna wait until after the new year to start posting it, but I just can't wait anymore. I'm that excited about it, heh heh.**

**So this is totally AU, meant to be a sort of action/romance story, and also will NOT include any new characters from HoO. I'm keeping it strictly PJO. The gods will be in it, but they're not *gods* exactly. All you need to know diving in is in the summary, and the T rating is for language, violence, and some adult content.**

**(And for any of you reading my story _Blood and Sand_, don't worry, this doesn't mean I'm gonna update that any less frequently. I'm already done writing it, remember? Haha. It should still be all posted by Christmas)**

**DISCLAIMER: Of course I don't own this series. If I did, I wouldn't be working a desk job in Pittsburgh, that's for damn sure.**

**Prologue time? Prologue time.**

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Sometimes I _feel like_ everybody's got a **problem** / Sometimes I _feel like_ nobody wants to **solve** them

* * *

Annabeth Chase was not a romantic.

At twenty-three years old, she could count the number of real dates she'd been on with only one hand. She hated movie theaters, expensive restaurants, and dimly-lit coffee shops. She loved the beach, but would rather drown than walk hand-in-hand along the shoreline with someone at sunset. She despised romance novels and terms of endearment of any kind. She believed in love, sure—but she also believed in hard work, that a person had to fight for anything of value in life. And it wasn't love that helped someone get what she needed—a job, food, a place to live. No, Annabeth was a realist. A romantic, she was not.

But when her job called for it, she could appear convincingly otherwise.

"Ready to go?" her date asked as he dragged the pen across the signature line at the foot of their dinner bill. The arrogant flourish his left hand made as he crossed the _t _in his last name made her skin crawl, but she hid it expertly behind a soft-eyed smile.

"Yes, I think so," Annabeth answered, setting her napkin on the table beside her dessert plate and lifting her black satin clutch from its place near her wine glass. As her date handed the check holder to their waiter, who offered a bow and a formal greeting of thanks, she studied him carefully from across the table.

Colin Montgomery, that was his name. And everyone in the greater Los Angeles area knew it. He was in his early thirties and had thin, calculating eyes and a condescending smile that seemed to suggest he was busy wondering how much more money he had in his bank account than the person he was talking to. His pale blond hair was a fine complement to his chocolate skin and somehow matched the color of his silken suit to a shade, which Annabeth found odd. Undoubtedly, he had had it tailored specifically for such purpose. She glanced at the black fabric rose pinned to the right lapel of his jacket and fought the urge to roll her eyes. Talk about tacky.

"In that case," Colin addressed her in his flashy English accent once the waiter had strode away, "allow me to take you to your hotel. It's the least I can do after such a lovely night."

"Thank you," Annabeth replied with a convincing smile as they both rose from the table. "That would be nice of you. I'd been planning to call a taxi."

"I couldn't let you do that. The taxi service in this city isn't exactly what one would call reliable." He chuckled, his voice a low rumble, and placed a hand lightly on the small of Annabeth's back as he led her to the restaurant door. The host nodded to them and bid them goodnight as he hurried to hold the door open, and Annabeth had to tighten her shawl around her shoulders to shield her bare arms from the chilly October night wind.

Colin's driver was waiting for them by the curb, and once they'd both climbed into the back of the limousine he asked her, "What address?"

"Actually," she replied, "why don't we first go back to your place? I've never visited a penthouse apartment before, and I'd love a tour." She gave him a smile that fell into the tiny split between sweet and seductive and crossed one leg over the other, allowing the hem of her dress to slide a few inches above her knee. His dark, narrow eyes flitted toward her legs and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, and she silently applauded her practiced judge of character.

"A tour it is, then," Colin agreed with a small smirk. He knocked twice on the front window behind him and held up two fingers, and the driver took off down the city street.

The drive to Colin's apartment building seemed to go by quickly, thanks to the adrenaline rushing in Annabeth's veins, and in no time they had pulled into a side driveway and the driver had killed the engine. They met no other people on the way through Colin's private entrance and up to the lower of the top two floors, both of which were occupied by his lavish penthouse apartment.

"So," he said casually as he closed and locked the door behind them, "where would you like to start? I have an impressive wine collection in the pantry behind the kitchen, if I do say so myself."

Annabeth shrugged off her shawl and draped it over the back of a nearby chair before pulling the pin from her hair and allowing it to fall in loose blond curls over her left shoulder. "Why don't we head upstairs?" she suggested evenly. She placed a hand on her hip and used the other to tug at one of the straps of her dress, giving Colin her best sultry smile. "You look like a smart man," she added teasingly. "You don't need me to spell it out for you, do you?"

He gave a light laugh, eyes twinkling. "Follow me," he said, extending a hand toward the stairs as he led the way.

The master bedroom was just as fine and expensive-looking as the remainder of the penthouse, but Annabeth didn't pay it much mind. In her line of work, she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by things like fancy furniture and rich décor. She had to remain alert, but without appearing to be so. It wasn't exactly easy, but she was used to it.

"Bathroom?" she asked, glancing around the room and pretending that she hadn't already noticed where it was. Colin pointed toward a door along the left wall of the bedroom, and Annabeth headed toward it. "Wait here," she told him with a playful grin. "I won't be long." She turned away, aware of his hungry eyes on her back as she moved. She smirked in satisfaction before snapping the bathroom door closed behind her.

She turned both knobs on the sink and water splashed from the faucet, creating a suitable mask of sound. After taking a brief second to glance at her reflection and scowl (she'd never been one for elaborate makeup and complicated hairstyles, but work was work), she reached into her clutch and extracted a pair of black satin gloves, which she pulled on over her hands. She then lifted the skirt of her dress and took the nine-millimeter semi-automatic pistol and suppressor from their holster strapped around her upper thigh. She shot a look at the door as she snapped the suppressor into place against the barrel and cocked the gun, sliding a bullet into the firing chamber. With a passive expression she reached out and turned off the sink, then reached for the doorknob, gun hanging at her side.

Colin Montgomery was seated on the bed. He'd already removed his jacket, tie, and shoes and had begun unbuttoning his shirt when Annabeth strode casually out of the bathroom.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly as he looked up at her. "But I think you've got the wrong idea about where this evening is going." With a cold smile, she raised her gun, gripping it in both hands, and barely had time to enjoy the look of shock and terror on her target's face before the bullet wedged itself between his eyebrows and he fell backward onto his expensive silk bedsheets.

Adrenaline finally fading, Annabeth leaned over the bed and observed the blank look in the man's eyes, which were fixed on the ceiling but not seeing it. She removed the suppressor from the barrel of her gun and replaced it in the holster on her leg before fitting the gun loosely into Colin's limp fingers (she was sure to use his left hand, remembering from the restaurant that he was left-handed). She leaned backward and tilted her head to the side, observing the scene, and made one final adjustment to the angle of the dead man's arm before turning away casually and collecting her things.

She left the apartment without another look back.

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**Just a taste for now, like prologues are meant to be. Anybody recognize the description of the target? Christmas cookies if you can get it before I reveal it next chapter :)**

**So how 'bout a review to let me know if you're interested? Trust me, this thing's gonna be a blast.**

**Later days!**

**-oMM**


	2. First

**Heh, don't think this means all the updates will be this fast. I already had this chapter written and I like updating on Fridays when I'm in a good mood, haha.**

**Thanks to all of you who've shown interest in this so far. Welcome, everybody that followed/favorited! This chapter's a much better intro than the last, imo. Enjoy!**

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I know that people say we're _never_ gonna **make it** / But I _know_ we're gonna **get through** this

* * *

Annabeth had barely sat down at her desk when the newspaper was dropped on her laptop.

"Check it out. You made the front page."

She looked up pointedly at the grinning face of her best friend, Rachel Dare. Rachel was an incurable morning person, and despite most of her coworkers' disgruntled protests she had a habit of trying to spread her good mood. But after having lost three hours of the night to the time-zone change mid-flight from Los Angeles back to Langley, Virginia, Annabeth wasn't exactly feeling up for extra sunshine.

With a tired sigh, she picked up the newspaper. The front page was plastered with a black-and-white photo of Colin Montgomery, smiling smugly as though he was currently relaxing in his penthouse apartment rather than taking a permanent vacation at the morgue. The headline read _'LOCAL BILLIONAIRE COMMITS SUICIDE'._

"Why do you even have a copy of the Los Angeles Times?" Annabeth asked Rachel, arching an eyebrow.

Rachel shrugged, tilting her head so her orange curls bounced in a lively way. "I have my ways," she said simply. "So how'd it go? The usual wine, dine, and headshot?"

Annabeth smirked. "Tried and true," she replied.

Rachel shook her head. "Poor old rich guy," she said with mock remorse and an over-exaggerated sigh. "All he wanted was a little love, and instead he gets a bullet through the brain."

Annabeth snorted ruefully. "He should've thought of that before dealing under the table with Olympus."

"So you found out what their connection was?"

"Sure did," Annabeth answered as she stifled a yawn. "Ever heard of codename Charon?"

Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "The smuggler? You mean that was him?"

"Yup. He's been helping Olympus transport people across the border. That's where he made a lot of his money, actually." She yawned again and leaned back in her chair. "But I think it's safe to say Charon's smuggling days are over."

"Not to mention that's one more resource cut off from Olympus," Rachel added with a grin. "Hey, I should get back to work. Nice job, though. Keep it up and you'll have Castellan's job in no time." Annabeth shushed her and reached out to smack her arm. Rachel chuckled and strode away toward her own station, and Annabeth shook her head as she watched her friend go, unable to keep the small smile from her face.

Annabeth had met Rachel her freshman year of college, during which they'd been roommates. They'd gotten off to a rocky start—despite Rachel's information analyst position, she had a very artistic spirit, which contrasted with Annabeth's rigid work ethic. But as the semester had worn on, they'd both warmed up to each other and formed a friendship that had only grown stronger through their years at school together, and later when they'd both been hired by the Directorate of Intelligence division of the Central Intelligence Agency. Now, Annabeth was glad she'd found such a good friend in Rachel. Her relaxed attitude helped keep Annabeth from getting too grounded. And she liked to think she had a hand in keeping Rachel out of trouble.

The next disturbance came not five minutes later, as Annabeth finished booting up her laptop and was about to check her e-mail.

"Deputy Director wants to see you," a voice interrupted, and Annabeth looked up to see a dark-haired operative from her training class standing over her. He was a few years older than she was, and a black eye patch covered his left eye. She couldn't remember his name, only that it was Japanese. _Takahara, Nakama, Wakaba…_

She glanced at his name badge. _Nakamura. That's it._ "Thanks, Nakamura," she said with a smile. "Any specific instructions?"

Nakamura shrugged, absently straightening his tie. "Something about a new assignment, I think."

Annabeth sighed, pushing her chair back and climbing to her feet. Another assignment already? She'd barely returned from the last one.

After bidding Nakamura goodbye, she made her way across the floor toward the main elevator. Word must have gotten around about her most recent hit, because quite a few people fired 'good mornings' and 'nice works' her way. Annabeth had always had a good relationship with her coworkers. Despite the fact that she'd quickly risen in renown throughout the agency since her induction, most of them didn't seem to resent her for it, though they'd been employed longer than she had. Some of them liked to joke that with a last name like 'Chase', she'd been born for the job. She would always smile and reply that they had better be glad her last name wasn't 'Pulverize.'

When the elevator reached the top floor, Annabeth stepped out and turned to the right, striding past the executive offices. She made the mistake of closing her eyes mid-yawn halfway down the hall and as a result collided with someone exiting one of the offices.

"Hey, whoa!" a voice said as a strong hand gripped her arm to steady her. Annabeth looked up and immediately felt an embarrassed flush color her neck and ears.

"Oh, Luke," she addressed her senior Chief of Staff. "Sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Luke Castellan gave her a friendly smile. "No worries, Annabeth," he said, straightening the stack of papers in his hands. "Hey, I heard you snagged Charon yesterday. That's one more Olympus sympathizer crossed off the list. Keep it up and Kronos is bound to take notice." He grinned and gave an appreciative nod.

"Thanks," Annabeth said, inclining her head, "but I'm just doing my job." She tried to appear modest, though the idea of Victor Kronos, Director of the CIA, 'taking notice' of her work was definitely a major ego boost.

"Yeah, well I wish a few more people around here had your work ethic," Luke said with a wry smile. "You're on your way to see Atlas, right? I hear this job's an important one. Though, if it's you, I know I don't need to worry about anything going wrong." He raised a blond eyebrow and Annabeth couldn't help but smile.

"Well," she said, "I _was_ trained by the best." She jabbed his arm with her elbow and he chuckled.

"You got a point," he admitted. "I won't keep you. Good luck." He flashed one final smile and waved before heading toward the elevator. Technically, Annabeth knew she shouldn't be quite so informal with her commanding Chief of Staff, but before that he'd been her senior field operative and had overseen her field training himself. They'd spent a lot of time together during that period, and she was comfortable calling him a friend. She hadn't let it on to anyone but Rachel, but at times she'd even entertained the idea of his becoming something slightly more.

Annabeth shook her head as Luke turned into the elevator and disappeared. She was here for a purpose. Thoughts like that could wait.

The second to last office at the end of the hall was where she was headed. She knocked twice on the door before opening it and sticking her head inside. "Sir?" she called. "You wanted to see me?"

Duke Atlas, Deputy Director of the CIA, turned on the spot to face the door. He was standing behind his desk, leafing through a bound packet of papers. "Ah, Agent Chase," he greeted her. "Yes, come in. Sit down." Annabeth followed his direction, clicking the office door closed behind her, and waited patiently for him to continue.

Most of the agency was intensely intimidated by Duke Atlas, and for good reason. He was tall and broad-shouldered, impressively muscular even through his suit. He had deeply tanned skin and sleek dark hair cut short against his head, and a hard, cruel face that discouraged unprofessional behavior. He used to be a field agent, like her, and rumor had it that he once managed to apprehend one of Olympus's most dangerous assassins, codenamed Artemis (though they didn't know her real name). She had later escaped (no doubt with some help from the rest of her villainous organization), but from what Annabeth knew, it was the only time the CIA had actually had a key member of the crime ring in custody. Despite all that, however, Annabeth had never been as afraid of Atlas as many of her coworkers. Maybe that was because his all-work-and-no-play attitude reminded her a little bit of herself.

"Nice work with Montgomery. Anyway, I'm sorry I couldn't hold this meeting in the briefing room," Atlas said, glancing at Annabeth before turning back to the packet in his hands, "but there wasn't time. I've got a new assignment for you, and this time I'll need you to leave immediately."

Annabeth frowned, both from curiosity and a vague sense of annoyance. "Where to?" she asked.

"New York City," Atlas answered. He set the packet down on the table behind his desk and strode across the room to the filing cabinet against the left wall. His thick fingers reached out and lifted a manila envelope from atop the cabinet. "This came straight from Director Kronos this morning. Said to put my best man on it ASAP." Atlas smiled somewhat wryly as he stepped back toward the desk and dropped the envelope in front of Annabeth. "Told him my best girl could do a cleaner job in half the time."

Annabeth offered a smile, grateful for the compliment, before sliding the envelope toward her and flipping it open. Inside was a brief information file on her target—a single sheet of paper bearing only a few of the most basic details. Paper-clipped to the sheet was a photo of a young, black-haired man about her age dressed in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans. He was standing amid an arrangement of tables that looked like an outdoor café, many of which were occupied by small groups of people, and grinning at something over his shoulder. The picture looked to be taken from a distance and was slightly blurry, but the written description should help her identify him.

"Percy Jackson," Atlas said as Annabeth read the same name from the first line of the file before her. "Twenty-three. Brooklyn, New York." He sat down at his desk and folded his hands. Even sitting at the same level, he still towered over Annabeth. "Your flight's been booked, plane ticket's there with the file. The agency owns a cluster of apartments in Manhattan, so that's where you'll be staying. I'll need you to run some recon when you get there, figure out what you can about this guy, then take him out. Don't need an uproar. You know the drill."

Annabeth scanned the file and frowned. "Why so urgent?" she asked. "What did this guy do?"

The corners of Atlas's mouth turned down a bit. "Sorry, Chase. That's classified," he said. "Let's just say he pissed off some government big-shots."

"Right," Annabeth replied, her eyes narrowing unconsciously. That was the default response when the details were above her pay grade—she'd grown used to it by now. She flipped the manila envelope closed, knowing she wouldn't get any more information out of Atlas if he wasn't already prepared to give it. She was curious as to what could spur such a rushed assignment, but when it came down to it, it didn't really matter. This mission had come from Victor Kronos himself. It was the perfect opportunity for her to earn some spotlight in his eyes.

"So can I count on you?" Atlas asked gruffly, raising an eyebrow. Maybe he was waiting for her to ask a few more questions. But she knew what she needed to know.

Annabeth grinned confidently and rose from the table, giving the Deputy Director an affirmative nod. "Yes, sir," she promised. "Always."

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**Whoo! Rolling! Dunno when the next update will be, probably some time next week. Keep an eye out :D**

**Drop me a review on your way out. Later days!**

**-oMM**


	3. Second

**Hi again! Still just getting rolling with this. Let's get acquainted with some more stars of this story, shall we?**

**Thanks to everybody who read/reviewed the last two chapters! And all followers-welcome to the ride, haha.**

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Close your _eyes_ and please don't **let** me _go_ / Close your _eyes  
_Don't let me **let **you _go_

* * *

Two weeks. That was how long it typically took Annabeth to complete an assignment. And by agency standards, it was slightly quicker than average—that is, if the job was meant to be done spotlessly. She had a system, one that she had perfected over the past two years since her induction and that both followed CIA guidelines and allowed her some freedom to do the job the way she preferred.

The first week was spent on reconnaissance. Locate the target and determine his or her daily schedule—where they lived, where they worked, what time they got up in the morning, who they talked to, et cetera. She had discovered that it was remarkable how much you could learn about a person by closely observing one average week of their life. And every piece of information she absorbed was calculated and used during the next step of her process.

Week two was infiltration. Annabeth's preferred method of completing her assignments was to get close to her target in whatever way seemed appropriate based on their general characteristics. Sometimes she posed as a new friend who'd just moved to town. Sometimes she played the part of a transfer student at a university, whether to get to a student or a teacher. Sometimes it was through work—she pretended she was seeking a mentor or a more experienced employee for assistance. And sometimes, as with Colin Montgomery, she used a romantic approach. That was why week one was so crucial—it allowed her to study her target and learn the best way to get close to them without drawing suspicion from any direction.

Then finally, at the end of the second week, she would make her move, doing her best to either set the kill to look like a suicide or at the very least ensure that someone in the target's life was clearly to blame (which was also why the process was necessary). After those two weeks, she would never have existed.

And now, with an assignment direct from Victor Kronos himself, it was time her perfected system was recognized. If all went well, maybe she could even earn a field trainer recommendation from Luke or Atlas. But for that to happen, this job would have to go off without a hitch—and she was determined to make sure that it did. _Nothing_ was going to take this opportunity away from her.

Annabeth arrived in Manhattan early that afternoon. She had never been to New York, but she was no stranger to oversized cities. She'd grown up in Washington, D.C. and had traveled all over the country for her job, so navigating her way to the address Atlas had given her was not a difficult task. As it turned out, the apartment building wasn't exactly what one would call impressive, or even accommodating. But the good news was that the CIA owned the entire third floor, which meant that she had no neighbors to bother with. All the better. She could focus on her work without any unwanted distractions.

After unpacking only the essentials for her short stay, Annabeth dropped down onto the dusty, moth-eaten sofa and flipped open the manila envelope that contained the short description of her target. She had scanned it over briefly in Atlas's office, but now that she had time she could take a closer look. There really wasn't much information provided, as though the background team had hardly been given any time at all to gather the briefing. It struck Annabeth as odd how rushed this whole assignment seemed. But in her line of work, 'rushed' meant 'crucial.' Clearly whoever this Jackson guy was, Kronos had an important reason for wanting him dead.

If Annabeth had been hoping to learn that reason from the briefing, though, she was disappointed. The single sheet of paper gave her only the barest information—Jackson's basic physical description (twenty-three years old, about six feet tall, black hair, green eyes; only distinguishing feature being a tattoo of black flames on the back of his neck) and address of his daytime employer (the Blue Lantern café in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, where the photo was taken). It didn't even tell her his home address, and the only information relating to his personal life was the name of his mother, Sally, who lived in Manhattan and wasn't married. The last line on the sheet, under the title _Comments_, simply read, 'friendly; smiles a lot'. Annabeth clucked her tongue in annoyance. Usually she had a little more to go by. But she supposed it might benefit her in the long run. The deficit of information left all the more room for her own work to shine.

With a sigh, she got up and slid the envelope into the top drawer of the desk across the room, deciding that the sooner she got started, the smoother the assignment would run. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which read just after one-thirty in the afternoon, before grabbing her things and leaving the apartment.

The crowded subway ride to Prospect Heights seemed a lot longer to Annabeth than it probably was. She spent the time studying a map of Brooklyn that she'd gotten at the train station, trying to familiarize herself with its layout. Given that it was Saturday, she didn't know if Jackson would be at the café. But seeing as it was literally the only lead she had, she had to take it.

With the help of the GPS on her cell phone, Annabeth located the Blue Lantern without much difficulty. It was a decent-sized outdoor café wedged between a clothing store and a newsstand along one of the busier streets of Prospect Heights. About two dozen round tables of varying sizes were arranged about the dining area, each made of dark, polished wood and topped with—big surprise—decorative lanterns that cast blue light. In the daytime the effect was minimal, but she had a feeling the place would look considerably different at night.

Many of the tables were occupied by people either alone or in groups, eating big lunches or simply stopping for coffee. She couldn't see anyone matching her target's description as she walked slowly past, doing her best not to look too conspicuous, and she was just deciding whether or not to go back to her apartment and try again on Monday when a loud _crash_ made her jump in surprise.

Near the back-leftmost cluster of tables, a waitress had evidently just dropped an entire tray of drinks, littering the stone floor around her with shards of glass and sending colorful waves of liquid in all directions. Most of the tables near her were empty, but the three customers seated at the table two down to the right all sprang to their feet and backed away from the mess. A few passersby slowed their walks to see the cause of the commotion, but apparently it either wasn't interesting enough or happened on a daily basis, because no one lingered for long.

"I'm sorry!" the waitress, who was short and thin and looked to be no older than sixteen, gasped hurriedly, her eyes growing wide as she shot an apologetic look at the three standing customers who were trying to avoid the encroaching river of beverages.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and started to resume her own walk when an amused voice called out, "Balance with _both_ hands, Macy. We talked about this," and she did a double-take as a man with black hair and green eyes emerged from the kitchen door and knelt beside the girl, grinning and shaking his head. As he did so Annabeth caught a glimpse of the black ink tattooed on his neck, and she knew it was her guy.

Keeping her face a mask, Annabeth walked to the newsstand beside the café and purchased a newspaper in an attempt to blend in with the crowd. She joined the small cluster of people standing beside the newsstand and opened the paper, peering over it to observe the situation at the café and finally get her first good look at her newest target.

The first thing she noticed (and later wondered why; that sort of thing didn't usually matter) was that Percy Jackson was much better-looking than the blurry photo had made him out to be. He was tall but not awkward, lean and muscled but not bulky. His skin was evenly tanned, like he spent a lot of time at the beach, and the smile on his face was friendly but also somewhat mischievous, suggesting that he had a knack for getting himself into trouble and then talking his way out of it. His hands moved quickly as he helped the younger girl—Macy, he'd called her—pick up the larger pieces of glass and pile them on her serving tray. They were both dressed in jeans and dark blue shirts, which must have been the café's employee uniform, and had short black waist aprons tied around their hips, identifying them as servers.

Annabeth was just barely close enough to hear their voices as Macy said miserably, "Thanks, Percy. I can't believe this happened again. At this rate, I'll be job-hunting again by next week."

"Aw, chill, Gordon's not gonna fire you," Percy replied off-handedly. "He needs the help too bad. Besides, takes too long to break in a new server."

Macy sighed. "Long as I don't 'break in' all of our glasses first." Percy laughed, and a light pink flush spread across the girl's face, right over her tiny smile. He stood up and offered her a hand, which she took while avoiding his eyes. "I'll just… go get the mop and broom," she said somewhat awkwardly. She picked up her glass-covered serving tray and spun around a little too quickly, causing her feet to slide on the damp stone and the tray to fall from her grip. Percy darted forward and grabbed her arm with one hand, using the other to snatch the tray out of the air before the broken glass could get reacquainted with the ground. Annabeth unconsciously arched an eyebrow, taking note of his speed and finding herself surprisingly impressed.

"_Walk_, Macy, walk," Percy said with an exasperated sigh as Macy regained her balance. She glanced at his hand on her arm and reddened even further.

"Sorry," she mumbled, taking the tray back and heading (at a slower pace this time) back toward the kitchen, and Annabeth suppressed an amused chuckle. Evidently, this clumsy teenager had something of a crush on her target. She logged the detail away, wondering what it told her about his character.

Annabeth turned the page on the newspaper she wasn't reading and watched as Percy moved to apologize to the table of customers who'd been disturbed by Macy's actions. They must have been regulars, because he seemed to know them well—unless, that is, he acted familiarly around everyone. Regardless, it wasn't long before they'd smiled and assured him it was no trouble, and he had them moved to a different table.

The time Annabeth could spend standing by the newsstand pretending to read the paper was limited, she knew, so after another minute she turned away and continued down the street in the direction she'd been heading. She circled the block for good measure before returning to the Blue Lantern, though the high number of people on the sidewalks suggested that no one would look at her twice and think her suspicious. There was a small park-like courtyard across the street from the café, which was extremely convenient as it provided her with the perfect place to sit and keep an eye on her target, who, at the moment, was taking the orders of a table of four teenage girls. She couldn't hear what anyone was saying, but it hardly mattered. Actions and facial expressions told her much more than words did. No matter how little information she'd been given, she could generate a full profile and devise a plan in no time.

Annabeth prided herself on her tracking abilities. She had been made to quietly follow so many people over the past few years that staying hidden was something she was now naturally good at. Thanks to that, she was able to record a relatively accurate account of Percy Jackson's daily schedule, which should help her in getting close to him.

As it turned out, he lived in an old apartment building in Cypress Hills, about six miles or so from the Blue Lantern in Prospect Heights. Monday through Thursday, he worked double shifts at the café, 7:00 A.M. to 10:00 P.M., after which he spent an hour at a public gym a mile from his apartment building swimming laps before heading home. On Fridays and Saturdays, he worked at the Blue Lantern until 4:00, after which he'd head to his second job—bartending at a twenty-one-and-over club in Williamsburg called the Grapevine. Sunday was the only day he had off. Both Sundays she observed, he left home mid-morning and went running in Highland Park (between that and the time he spent at the gym, Annabeth had started to hope she wouldn't be forced to fight him; while she was professionally trained in hand-to-hand combat, she was smart enough to realize that he was obviously stronger than her, and faster than he looked). One Sunday, he visited someone in the Upper East Side of Manhattan whom Annabeth assumed must have been his mother, Sally.

Aside from his schedule, her time spent running reconnaissance also allowed Annabeth to learn more about her target on a personal level, which was key to her infiltration technique. At the café, he was almost always friendly, like the comments on her briefing had said, and seemed to know a good deal of the customers who sat at his tables. There were a few notable guests he spoke with often who also, Annabeth noticed, frequented his night club on the weekends—probably closer friends of his. She paid close attention to them as well, in case she needed to make use of them.

Foremost was a tall, gangly man a year or two older than Annabeth with curly brown hair and a goatee. He and Percy seemed to have known each other for a long time and were good friends. He was slightly awkward and uncoordinated, and tended to appear a bit overenthusiastic. But he was also kind and, in a way, innocent. Annabeth assumed that whatever it was Jackson was involved in that had placed him on Kronos's hit list, this curly-haired guy wasn't part of it.

There was also an angry-looking, brooding guy with dark, shaggy hair who was always dressed in black. His arms were covered in sleeves of tattoos, leaving hardly any skin untouched (his right arm, Annabeth noticed, was decorated entirely with different species of flowers, which she found slightly odd. He didn't exactly strike her as the flower-loving type). He looked to be about twenty or twenty-one, and every conversation he and Jackson had was hushed and serious. Annabeth was sure to keep an eye on this one, as he, unlike the curly-haired man, had a relative chance of being involved in something slightly less than legal. She was never able to get close enough to hear their discussions without arousing suspicion, but perhaps a time for that would come during her infiltration week. If she wanted any clues as to what her target was involved in, the angry-looking guy could be key.

While those two were the most frequent, Annabeth also took note of a few others who made appearances at both the café and the night club. Percy's fellow bartender, a slim, attractive girl about his age with blue eyes and brown hair so dark it was almost black, visited him at the Blue Lantern twice that week. Though she seemed to have a flirty personality, they didn't appear to be anything more than friends, which was good news for Annabeth. Single guys were much easier to get close to in a short period of time. Also notable were two tall, skinny guys a little older who looked so much alike that they had to be brothers, maybe even twins. The shorter one hardly ever looked away from his cell phone, whether texting or playing some game, Annabeth didn't know. On Friday at the Grapevine, she watched the taller one get in a fight with a big, burly woman with mousy brown hair after switching her drink for a glass of soapy water, probably as some kind of ill-conceived prank. It took half the staff, including Jackson and the slim, blue-eyed woman, to break them apart, though Annabeth noticed that no one had seemed extremely surprised. Maybe that sort of thing happened often.

As much as she tried to find anything out of the ordinary going on in her target's life, for all the world he seemed like just an average guy with a busy work schedule. She would just have to accept the fact that maybe she would never know why it was Kronos wanted him dead. Part of her knew she didn't need to know in order to do her job, but she couldn't help being curious.

Then again, infiltration week was only a day away. She still had some time to figure it out, assuming she made the right moves.

Annabeth kept this in mind that Sunday night as she analyzed her findings, deciding how Percy Jackson would be spending the last week of his life.

* * *

**I swear, rewriting the characters to fit this setting is way too much fun. You guys should try it sometime, haha.**

**Anyway, how 'bout a review? Toss me your thoughts? Next update will probably be next week :) (And for anybody reading Blood and Sand, I'll update that one later today, promise!)**

**Later days!**

**-oMM**


	4. Third

**Hi gang! It's Thursday again and I'm back with another update. Thanks bunches everybody who read/reviewed so far, and welcome everybody who started following in the last week. Glad to have you on board this crazy train!**

**These first couple chapters are admittedly gonna be a bit on the dull side, compared to later ones, but once we get through it things get much more exciting later on. It's rough writing these because I just want so badly to get to the later bits, haha. I keep reading my outline and being like "Man, I can't wait to write THAT" haha. As a writer, that's a bit sad, I know.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Take my **hand** tonight / Let's not think about _tomorrow_

* * *

Infiltration week was easily the most difficult step of Annabeth's process, as it varied from target to target and often proved a rigorous test of her acting skills. Sometimes, as with Colin Montgomery, the target's personality gave her an easy direction. She had seen him take home enough women during her reconnaissance week to know that if she wanted to get him alone, all she had to do was ask.

But with Jackson, it was different. He didn't have any clear personality flaws that she could observe from afar. Instead, she would have to start from square one and improvise based on what happened from there.

So when she finally sat down at one of his tables at the Blue Lantern just after 9:00 A.M. Monday morning, she'd settled on just playing a slightly friendlier version of herself.

"Look at that, a new face," a now-familiar voice said as the person she'd been secretly following for the past nine days came up and stood beside her chair. "You know, I know all our usual nine-A.M.-ers and I really don't think you're one of them."

Annabeth looked up at him and smiled. After watching him from a distance, it was almost strange to see him up close, looking at her for the first time. His green eyes, she could now tell, were darker than she'd thought, like the color of the sea, but his wide, friendly smile gave the same air of feigned innocence that she'd noticed on day one. "No, I actually just moved here last week from D.C.," she replied casually. "I work at the American Apparel next street over and someone recommended this place, so I decided to check it out."

"In that case, I'd better make us a good first impression," he said. He straightened his back and held one arm out in front of him, raising his chin in an impression of a stereotypical, five-star-restaurant waiter. "Welcome to the Blue Lantern. My name's Percy and I'll be your server this morning. Can I interest you in one of our daily specials? We don't normally _have_ daily specials, but I'm sure the cook can come up with something that fits the bill."

Annabeth laughed convincingly. "Oh, I don't think I'm in the mood for something 'special'," she said, making a face. "Besides, I'd heard this place had a more relaxed atmosphere. I'm not really a 'wine-and-dine' kind of girl." That much, at least, was the truth.

Percy cracked a grin and handed her a single-page, laminated menu. "Alright, you caught me," he said. "We're but simple folk here. No daily specials or chef's favorites or any of that. But what I _can_ do is get you anything your mood calls for." He nodded to the sheet in her hands and added, "Just so long as it's on that menu."

Annabeth smiled and gave another light giggle, her eyes scanning the menu. "Just a cup of coffee," she decided. "Non-decaf, two creams, one sugar."

"Comin' right up." He gave her a half-bow before turning and heading back toward the kitchen.

Annabeth glanced around the dining area, noting that only six other tables were occupied. That was, in fact, why she'd chosen that time to pay her own visit—it was one of the least busy hours of the day, which meant that her server would have no reason to hurry. And the more time she had, the better.

Only a few minutes had passed before Percy returned with her coffee. She thanked him with another smile and put the cup to her lips, but something was off about the taste. She frowned down at the cup in confusion, trying to figure it out.

He must have noticed her expression, because he said, "I added a shot of mocha on the house." She looked up in time to see him grin and explain, "You look like a chocolate girl." Then he left before she could respond.

Annabeth's eyebrows creased in mild annoyance. Who was he to decide what she wanted in her drink? Wasn't it his job to bring her what she ordered? She took another tentative sip of the coffee, and now that she knew what to expect, she had to admit it was actually good. Really good. Maybe she should consider ordering her coffee like this more often. Somehow it was surprising, though, that Percy had actually guessed right about her preferences. Pushing back the confusion, she told herself it was a good thing. If he was taking any interest in her at all, her job was already easier.

As she drank her coffee, Annabeth pulled out the newspaper she'd bought on the way there and absently scanned the articles, reading but not really absorbing what she saw. She lingered for about thirty minutes, with Percy coming over every ten or so to see if she needed or wanted anything else. Each time she declined, requesting her check only when she felt that she couldn't stay any longer without appearing like she was purposely stalling.

"So how was your first visit?" Percy asked her as he handed over her check. "Not the most exciting time to stop by, but I hope it wasn't too dull."

"It was great, thank you," Annabeth replied, smiling as she added, "Fantastic service is tough to find these days."

"Glad to hear it," he said. "I try hard, you know."

Annabeth thought briefly of his spontaneous alteration of her drink and decided that maybe it was her turn to try and surprise him. She shot him a sideways glance and said innocently, "I'm sure being cute, sweet, and friendly is a big help there."

His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch and he grinned, studying her for a second before replying, "Why don't you tell me?"

It took Annabeth a few seconds to realize he was offering the same compliment back to her, and for some reason it made her strangely giddy. After all, it wasn't every day an attractive guy told her she was cute, sweet, and friendly. Come to think of it, no one ever called her cute, sweet, and friendly. Maybe this job wouldn't be so bad.

"Thanks for stopping by," Percy said after a minute, eyes locked on Annabeth's as he stepped away from her table and inclined his head politely. "Have an awesome day." With one final joker-like grin, he turned away and headed toward another table, which was occupied by an elderly couple. For a brief moment, Annabeth watched him smile and take their order, before setting her money (including a very generous tip for her server) on the table and leaving the café.

The first day had gone well, but if she intended to get her target alone by the weekend she would need to step it up—to do something that would make a lasting impression on him without pushing him away. Her time was limited, after all.

So the next day when she sat herself down at the same table, she was glad to see that he remembered her surprisingly well.

"Welcome back," he greeted her with a smile. "Let me guess. Non-decaf coffee, two creams, one sugar."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow and did her best to look impressed. "Good memory," she said. "One day and I already have a usual."

Percy grinned. "We'll make a regular out of you yet."

Before he could turn away she quickly added as an afterthought, "Actually, make it a mocha. I recently realized I'm a bit of a chocolate girl."

It may have been her imagination, but it looked like his grin turned slightly cocky as he said, "You got it."

As soon as he disappeared into the kitchen, Annabeth sighed shortly, letting the smile fall from her face. It was a little exhausting, being overly nice to someone she was planning to kill in just a few days' time. But she knew it would benefit her in the long run, which was easily motivation enough to keep going strong.

When Percy returned with her drink, an idea struck her, and as she reached for it she purposely pushed her hand a little too far, knocking the large coffee mug from his grip and pouring the entire contents down the front of his shirt.

"YYYYYOW!" he yelled loudly as he scrambled backward with wide eyes, steam rising from his shirt. The mug smashed against the stone floor and Annabeth gasped in feigned shock and embarrassment.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry!" she said hurriedly, jumping out of her chair and to her feet. Her voice faltered somewhat as he reflexively reached for the collar of his shirt and yanked the fabric off over his head, exposing his chest and arms. She'd watched him swim at the gym and knew he was impressively in shape, but once again, seeing it up close was entirely different. She blinked rapidly and shook her head, regaining her falsely nervous demeanor. "I thought I had a better grip on it. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," Percy assured her, though he still had that look of pained surprise on his face. He forced a light laugh and said, "Not the first time that's—"

"What's going on out—Jackson! What have I told you about stripping in the café?"

Percy grimaced and shot a wounded sort of look at the tall, dark-skinned man in black slacks and a white dress shirt that had just exited the kitchen area and was now watching him with crossed arms and a disgruntled expression. As her target twisted around, she caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his back and noticed that the black flames stretched down his spine almost to his waist. Her curious side wondered briefly if they meant something, or if he was just the sort of person that liked flashy tattoos.

"He makes me sound like a public nudist," Percy muttered, and Annabeth snorted in amusement. He twisted the coffee-soaked shirt in his hands and rung it out, dripping dark liquid onto the stone floor. "Sorry, Gordon," he called to the dark-skinned man—probably the manager. "It was just, uh… an accident."

Gordon eyed the coffee pooling on the ground amid the broken mug. "Macy again?" he said with an exasperated sigh. "She needs to stop spilling things on people. I swear, if I've told that girl once, I've told her a hundred times—"

"No, it wasn't Macy," Percy insisted quickly, shaking his head. "It was my fault. I wasn't being careful."

Gordon raised a suspicious eyebrow, like he didn't believe what he was hearing. "You? You're a lot of things, Jackson, but careless and clumsy aren't on the list."

Percy shrugged. "First time for everything," he said.

Gordon watched Percy with a calculating look, then finally said firmly, "Well, make sure the first time is the _last_ time. Go home and change. I'll have Kenderson cover your tables while you're gone." He frowned darkly at the people who had stopped or turned to watch the commotion, some of which were hiding their laughter better than others, and with one final shake of his head he retreated back inside the building.

"You didn't have to take the blame, you know," Annabeth said apologetically as Percy grabbed a handful of napkins from the empty table behind him and used them to wipe the coffee from his chest and stomach. "That was completely my fault. You could have told him."

"How could I do that?" he replied with a half-smile. "I don't even know your name."

Her eyes watched the curve of his shoulders as he shook his damp T-shirt and pulled it back on over his head, frowning down at the dark stain across the front of it. She felt an excited sort of stirring in the pit of her stomach, which she assumed must have been because her ploy had worked perfectly. "It's Anna," she said after a beat, appearing as though she was deciding whether or not to tell him. Then she glanced down, looking embarrassed. "Not that it matters. I'm sure you guys don't exactly want me back after today."

"I wouldn't say that," Percy replied with a sideways grin. "Between you and me, this place could do with a little more excitement." Annabeth gave a weak laugh in response. "Guess I'd better, you know…" He unhooked his waist apron and set it on an empty table, gesturing to his stained clothes. "Get this fixed. I'll see you around. Anna."

Annabeth smiled. "Yeah," she said simply. She held his gaze as he walked past her, right up until he reached the sidewalk and turned around, breaking into a jog as he headed for the nearest train station.

With a satisfied smirk, Annabeth sat back down at her table, crossing her arms in front of her and watching the place where her target had vanished into the crowd. She was happy with the way things were going. She'd wanted to make an impression on Jackson, after all, and her actions today had definitely done just that. All she had to do now was make sure to keep her momentum going, and in no time she'd be back in Langley with the Director of the CIA singing her praises.

* * *

**Looks like things are going well. I'm sure nothing could possibly happen to get in the way of Annabeth finishing her assignment. Not when it's such a sure thing. Yeah.**

**Anyway, update *should* be up some time next week. Hopefully with Christmas coming I still have time to work on this. It won't be too long, though, so no worries.**

**Leave me a review on your way out, and if I don't update again before the holiday, then Merry Christmas, everybody!**

**-oMM**


	5. Fourth

**Hi gang! Thursday again. Everybody have a good Christmas? (If you celebrate, anyway.) Ready for another chapter? A late Christmas gift from me to you :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Take my **hand** tonight / We can find some _place_ to go

* * *

"Missed you yesterday. I was worried Dash had scared you off. I keep telling him he can't hit on every girl that stops in, but he just doesn't seem to get it."

Annabeth smiled and glanced up from her newspaper as Percy crossed his arms, the humor in his voice suggesting that he wasn't serious—though, as she was learning, he hardly ever was. It took her a moment to remember that Dash was the name of the server the café manager had appointed as Percy's replacement on Tuesday after she'd 'accidentally' spilled coffee on him. Dash was a few years younger than she was—maybe around eighteen—and had indeed been a bit on the _friendly_ side. But it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

"No, but he gave it a good shot," she joked in return. "Honestly, I was just, you know… embarrassed. For what happened. I'm really sorry you had to go home, and that I got you in trouble." Truthfully, she'd actually skipped out on her visit to the Blue Lantern yesterday for tactical reasons—ones that, by the looks of things, had worked perfectly. Her target said he'd 'missed' her, after all. Sure, he probably hadn't meant it in that way, but if her absence was noted then that was good enough for her.

"I told you, don't worry about it," he insisted, lifting a shoulder. "Job like this, not the first time that's happened."

"Still, your boss didn't exactly look happy," Annabeth argued, biting her lip in an attempt to look remorseful. "There's got to be some way I can make it up to you."

Percy shook his head and grinned. "Leave me a good tip and we'll call it even," he said, and Annabeth had to hide her disappointed scowl. She'd been hoping he'd take the bait, but evidently she was going to have to work a bit harder. "Unless you'd rather I get some coffee to drop on _you_…" He raised his eyebrows inquisitively and Annabeth shook her head and held up her hands.

"No, no, I choose option one," she said quickly.

"Thought so," he answered with a smile. "So, usual? _In_ the cup this time?"

Annabeth laughed and answered affirmatively, and he disappeared into the building. When he returned with her order, she spoke up, "I know I must sound like a broken record, but are you _sure_ you didn't get into too much trouble with your boss the other day? You know, so I know how much tip I need to leave to make up for it?"

"Nah, Gordon loves me," Percy said off-handedly. "He has to. I've been here longer than any of our other servers and the turnover rate's pretty high, so I'm all he's got to train the fresh meat. He can't afford to get mad at me."

"How long have you worked here?" Annabeth asked curiously, seizing the opportunity to strike up a normal conversation.

"About five years," he answered with a thoughtful look, "since I was eighteen. After high school, my mom wanted me to go to college, but it never really panned out. I started working a few jobs and just… never stopped. My life's a bit busy now, so I don't think I'd even have time to fit school into the mix." He smiled ruefully, then blinked and tilted his head to the side, adding, "But you didn't ask my life story, so forget I said anything. Sorry."

She laughed lightly. "If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked," she pointed out, shaking her head and offering a reassuring smile. "I could always tell you my life story to make it even." He gave a half-shrug, indicating her to go ahead, and she went on, "I was born in Washington, D.C. and lived with my mom my whole life. After high school, I went to George Washington University and graduated last year with a bachelor's degree in sociology. Job-hunting wasn't exactly going as planned, so I decided on a change of scenery. I picked up and moved here to New York, got a job in retail to keep up with expenses, and here I am. Talking to you."

Part of that story was true. She had indeed grown up in Washington, D.C. and lived with her mother when she was young. Then when she was twelve her mother had been arrested for felony and she'd been thrown into the city foster system. Her mother's arrest wasn't something she talked about, or even willingly thought about, but it had since that day been her motivation to make something of her life. She had also really graduated from George Washington University, though with not only a sociology degree but a double-major in sociology and criminal justice. She'd been hired by the Metropolitan Police Department almost immediately and scouted by the CIA four months later. That was when she'd moved to Langley.

"Well, sounds like your life's a bit more figured out than mine, at least," Percy said wryly once she'd finished, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. Curiosity once again sparked in Annabeth's mind. To her, he still didn't seem like someone who should warrant such an important assassination assignment. Either he had no idea what he was involved in, or he was hiding something—and was very good at hiding it.

"It's never too late, you know," she said simply. "What do you want to do?"

He frowned and reached for the chair opposite her at the round table, pulling it out and dropping heavily onto it, and Annabeth hid her satisfied smile by taking a sip of her coffee. "Honestly, I don't know," he replied with a shrug, taking a ballpoint pen out of his pocket and tugging the cap off and on absent-mindedly. "I feel like college isn't really for me, you know? I'm happy where I'm at now. At least until I take over for my dad."

_Now we're getting somewhere,_ Annabeth thought to herself. "Your dad?" she repeated.

"He owns an apartment complex in Queens," Percy explained. "Belle Harbor, right on the beach."

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. Belle Harbor was arguably the most expensive region in Queens. Homes and apartments there cost a fortune, especially beachside dwellings. "Sounds fancy. What are you doing working here when your family's got that kind of money? Um, if you don't mind my asking," she added hastily with her best sheepish smile.

He tilted his chair backward on two legs and shook his head. "I prefer to work for what I've got, rather than rely on him," he replied somewhat stiffly, making Annabeth wonder about his relationship with his father. She had never known her own father, as her mother was never married and in her childhood it had only been the two of them, so she couldn't use experience to try and relate. She was fairly good at lying, as she'd proven time and again, but instead she settled on giving him a slightly sympathetic smile. In his eyes, they didn't know each other quite well enough for her to ask a question that personal. Additionally, she couldn't decide if it was important to her investigation or not. Though, why else she should be curious at all, she didn't know. It had to be the investigation.

"That's… commendable," Annabeth said, raising her eyebrows.

The corner of his mouth twitched in a sort of rueful smirk. "You think it's stupid."

She gave a light laugh. "No, really," she insisted. "I've always thought that… things in life were really only worth anything if you fight for them, you know? Most people prefer to take the easy way out, but I've never been that way. Why do you think I just packed my bags and moved to New York? I could have stayed in D.C. and settled for some easy job, but where's the fulfillment in that? If you really want to be happy, you get there by earning what you've got—feeling like it's yours, like it means something." The funny thing was, all of that was actually true (excluding the bit about moving to New York, anyway). Annabeth spent so much time lying when infiltrating her targets' lives that she felt sort of strange revealing something personal about herself and actually meaning it.

Percy gave her a strange look. He smiled, but his eyebrows knitted together uncertainly—like he wanted to believe her but wasn't sure whether or not he could.

"What?" she asked somewhat self-consciously. She forced a small laugh and said, "Sorry, sometimes my sociology major shows a little too well. I have a tendency to get kind of involved when it comes to behavioral studies. I've got… a lot of opinions." She topped it off with a sheepish smile and a light shrug, hoping to ease a bit of the tension between them.

"No, I just…" He shook his head and smiled, appearing to loosen up a little. "Usually, people tell me how pointless it is to work so hard now when I've got a lock on my dad's job sometime in the future. They don't get that I want some life experience first—you know, make sure I'm ready and all that before I take it. It's just… different to see somebody actually agree." He grinned, watching her with a friendly, though calculating gaze. She met his eyes and smiled, and something in the pit of her stomach stirred uncomfortably. She wasn't sure what it was, but she couldn't help but think how odd it was to recognize similarities between herself and her target—a supposed criminal whom the director of the CIA himself wanted dead. It was a bit disconcerting, but part of her was also strangely _glad_. Apparently she was more in-character during this particular infiltration than she thought.

"Jackson!" a voice called suddenly, making them both jump. Percy jerked forward and his chair dropped loudly back to all four legs. Annabeth turned toward the kitchen building to see the manager—Gordon—standing by the door with his arms crossed. "Table eleven, please," he said curtly.

Percy jumped to his feet and grinned at his boss. "On it," he said, touching a hand to his forehead in salute. Gordon raised an eyebrow and his mouth thinned. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he turned and disappeared back inside, mumbling something about paying his servers to flirt with customers. Percy glanced sideways at Annabeth and said, "See what I mean? He loves me."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry," she said in a hushed voice. "That's the second time this week he's called you out because of me."

"And it's the second time this week I don't regret it," he assured her with a shrug, and for some reason when she smiled back it wasn't quite as forced as usual. "I'll be back in a bit to see if you need anything. Enjoy the coffee." He shot her a carefree grin before heading off in the direction of another nearby table at which a middle-aged woman and two small girls had just sat down.

Annabeth took a sip of her drink, eyes following her target as he greeted the family (at least, she assumed they were family by the protective way the woman regarded the children) with a smile and handed them each a menu. He bent down and said something to the older of the two girls, both of whom looked to be between the ages of six and ten, that made her giggle and cover her mouth with her hands. The mother smiled and gave him their order, and he retreated back toward the kitchen.

There was something about this assignment that was starting to unnerve Annabeth. Typically, she moved through her infiltration week with almost robotic precision, planning every move and following a strict schedule as well as a set of important rules. First and foremost of those rules was that she never revealed anything personal about herself unless absolutely necessary, and here she was talking to her target about her most fundamental behavioral belief. Sure, she'd brushed it off with some excuse about being a sociology buff, but that didn't change the fact that he now knew something real about her, and that made her feel strangely exposed. Her job was to remain, so to speak, anonymous—to become someone else while her true self disappeared completely. That way, she could never in any way be held accountable for what would happen when she completed her assignment, and the chances of her intentions being discovered ahead of time were next to zero. But with Percy Jackson, she was beginning to tread on dangerous waters. A bit of her real personality was leaking through her mask, and for someone in her profession, that posed a serious problem.

The question that bothered her the most, however, was why? What was different about this target than any other? For one thing, she knew how important the job was—it had come directly from Kronos and was being treated in an escalated manner, lacking many of the typically-employed clearance procedures that took place prior to assignment. That usually only happened when the target was extremely dangerous and fast action was required. So far, however, nothing about Jackson had led her to believe that this was the case. And even if it was, that was no reason for her to act more carelessly. If anything, she should be taking even more precaution than usual.

The only thing to do would be to remain extra vigilant from then on and finish the job as quickly and as cleanly as she could. Objectively, it was going well. She and her target had had some real conversation time and she believed she had definitely made an impression on him. All she needed to do now was get him alone.

And with the next day being Friday, she knew the time was right.

When he finally returned to her table, she gave him a friendly smile and asked for her check, deciding that she had made enough progress for the day. At home that night, she would decide how best to go about the final stage of her plan.

-0-0-0-

"Told you we'd make a regular out of you," Percy said with his increasingly familiar grin as he brought Annabeth her drink the next day without her even having to order it.

"What can I say?" she replied with a shrug. "You guys make a great cup of coffee." She tilted her head to the side and added in a bit of an undertone, "Though, between you and me, there's this cute server here that I really like talking to."

"Ah, right," he replied, raising his eyebrows and nodding in understanding. "Well, if you want, I can let him know you're here." She noticed his grin had turned slightly sarcastic, which was exactly according to plan.

Annabeth shook her head. "Better not," she said. "I'm worried he sort of hates me. I keep getting him in trouble with his boss." She leaned forward a bit and whispered, "I even spilled an entire cup of coffee on him a few days ago."

Percy laughed, and she actually—honestly—had to smile. "You know that's the oldest trick in the book, right?" he said, lifting an eyebrow.

"You say that like I did it on purpose," she said innocently, but she didn't try hard to deny it. Maybe it would be better if he knew she'd pulled that particular stunt to get his attention.

But he only shrugged, not saying anything else on the subject. "I'm gonna go check on another table," he told her instead. "Yell if you need anything else." He held her gaze a second or two longer than necessary before leaving, and Annabeth smirked into her coffee once his back was turned. So far, so good.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something," she spoke up the next time Percy came by her table and didn't appear to be busy. "You know this area pretty well, right? How's the nightlife? I'm off tonight and I hate sitting at home in a city like New York. Any good places around here I can check out for future reference?"

_Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait_, she silently pleaded as he glanced to the side thoughtfully. When he finally seemed to make up his mind, he answered, "There're tons of bars and nightclubs around here, but not all of 'em are worth looking into. On weekends, I actually work at this club up in Williamsburg that gets some good traffic. Decently-priced, loud but not obnoxious—that's the kind of place you want. I could probably come up with a few others, if you need it."

"You have a second job?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. He wasn't aware that she knew all too well about his second job, and had even memorized his schedule to boot.

He gave a wry half-smile. "Remember that talk about life experience we had yesterday?" he asked rhetorically. "I get off here at four, then it's straight up there for the five-to-two. It's a lot sometimes, but I love the place, so it's worth it."

Annabeth shook her head, like she couldn't believe what he was saying. "I know work's important and all, but how do you have any time for a social life? It sounds rough."

"Eh, the owner's a friend of my dad's," he replied with a shrug. "He cuts me some slack sometimes, isn't too strict with my breaks, stuff like that. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. It's kind of an unspoken agreement." He grinned, and she laughed in response. After a beat, he said, "Tell you what. Why don't I give you the address and you can come check it out sometime—see what I mean about the type of place that's safe around here." He pulled that same ballpoint pen he'd played with yesterday out of his pocket and scrawled something across a paper napkin from her table.

_Almost there_. "If I stop by when you're working, think you'll be able to spare a few minutes?"

He slid the napkin next to her coffee mug, leaning a bit farther toward her in the process. And as his green eyes met her gray ones and he answered, "Maybe more than a few," all she could think was, _Bingo._

* * *

**Almost showtime! The chapters are starting to get longer. I'm working on the next one now and it's already longer than this one. I love that, though :) Makes me feel like more is actually happening. Plus I still can't wait to get to the later bits.**

**Drop me a review if you please, and I should be back sometime next week :D**

**Later days!**

**-oMM**


	6. Fifth

**Hi everybody! New Year's Eve! Ready for another chapter? I had a lot of fun writing this one, actually, even though not too much happens. It's a bit longer than the last few, though, which is always nice.**

**Thanks to everybody who reviewed last chapter, and welcome new followers! Enjoy!**

* * *

'Cause our _hearts_ are locked **forever** / And our **love** will never _die_

* * *

"So it's going well, then?"

"Right on schedule. I'm meeting him at a nightclub tonight." Annabeth strode across the apartment and stood in front of her computer screen, gesturing down at the black skirt and ocean blue top that she'd just finished dressing in. "What do you think, too much?"

On the screen, the image of Rachel Dare cocked its head to the side and looked Annabeth over thoughtfully. "A bit fancy," she replied. "I'd say go for something a little looser—something comfortable but cute, that you can dance in."

Annabeth nodded and walked back into the bedroom, pulling her blouse over her head as she went. She threw the clothes onto her bed and consulted her closet, which was relatively sparse given her short stay in New York City. Back home, her work wardrobe was divided into two sections—office and assignment. Her office wear consisted of business attire—slacks, skirt suits, oxford shirts, and the like. Her assignment clothing looked much more like the closet of an average girl her age—skinny jeans, flashy dresses, formal gowns, low-cut tops, anything that attracted attention. When on a job, however, she only ever brought a minimal amount of attire, so there wasn't much for her to choose from.

After some consideration, she chose a dark gray cotton-jersey dress that was fitted to her hips and hung loosely to a spot about two inches above her knee. It was comfortable, cute but not ostentatious, easy to move in, and—best of all—the loose skirt allowed for easy concealment of her weapon, which she typically strapped to the inside of her thigh. An ideal dress for a casual date that would end in assassination.

"How about this one?" she asked Rachel once she'd stepped back in front of her computer.

Rachel looked up from the stack of papers in front of her—Annabeth's report on her target, which she wasn't technically supposed to share, but she trusted Rachel with anything and, as an information analyst, her input was often extremely valuable—and smiled, nodding in approval. "Perfect," she said. "Really brings out your eyes." Annabeth rolled said eyes, but smiled all the same. As she picked up a brush from the desk and moved to stand in front of the mirror beside the kitchen, Rachel went on, "Jeez, this guy works a lot. How'd you even get him to agree to this?"

Annabeth chuckled as she dragged the brush through her curly, blond hair, having wondered much the same thing many times over the past week. "Technically, he's working tonight. I just got him to agree to take some time out for me."

"You have a plan?"

"Not really," Annabeth admitted with a frown. "Jackson is… Well, he's a nice guy. He's not like Montgomery—I don't think I can just ask to see his bedroom and expect him to comply."

"Hmm…" Rachel mused. Annabeth glanced over at her computer screen to see her frowning down thoughtfully at the papers on her desk. "Well, you're gonna have to play to the whole 'nice guy' thing. You know, make him think he's doing you a favor by taking you home."

Annabeth considered this as her fingers weaved her hair into a braid over her shoulder, her mind formulating a scenario. "You're right," she said aloud after a minute. "Thanks, Rachel."

Rachel smiled. "What would you do without me?" she asked, looking up to shoot Annabeth an overly-sweet smile, to which Annabeth grinned and shook her head. As Rachel looked back down at Annabeth's report and shifted the pages, her eyebrows suddenly shot upward. "Ooh, Annabeth, you didn't tell me he was hot."

Assuming Rachel must have found the photos she'd taken, Annabeth shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," Rachel insisted matter-of-factly. She looked up and gave Annabeth a smirk, saying, "You should think about waiting 'til morning to finish the job, if you know what I mean."

"Rachel," Annabeth scolded her friend with a glare. "Are you suggesting I sleep with the guy I'm supposed to kill? _Seriously?_"

"What?" Rachel said innocently. "Look at him! Besides, you've been working too hard lately. I'm just saying you owe it to yourself to have some fun and, you know, off this guy in more ways than one."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help an amused smile. As long as she'd known Rachel, the redhead had always been one of the most honest, straightforward people she knew. She had very strong opinions and always spoke her mind, which Annabeth liked to think was why they got along so well.

"We'll see how the night plays out," Annabeth said noncommittally, though to be honest she didn't really have any intention of following Rachel's 'advice'. While she couldn't exactly say she didn't like the idea, sleeping with her target would definitely make her job more difficult. And seeing as her success was so important, it wasn't something she was willing to risk that easily.

"Hey, hadn't you better get going?" Rachel asked, glancing at something to the left of her screen. "It's almost nine-thirty."

"He doesn't leave until two," Annabeth pointed out, "but you're probably right. The more time I have, the better. Thanks for your help, Rachel."

Rachel smiled. "Any time, Annabeth. Good luck!" Then the video screen disappeared, signaling that the chat was over, and Annabeth's apartment fell silent.

-0-0-0-

It was just after 10:00 P.M. when Annabeth reached the Grapevine in Williamsburg. The few times she visited during her recon week, she was always sure to enter with another group of people and situate herself near the back, moving around occasionally so as not to appear conspicuous. This time, however, she entered alone and made no effort to stay out of sight, getting her first good look at the place.

The club was long and wide, with a low ceiling decorated with lights of varying shades of violet and blue between dim, florescent white, creating twisted patterns on the floor. The bar ran the length of the far left wall, the center section was dotted with chest-high round tables that seated two-to-four people, and to the right was an open area in which people either milled about in small groups or danced. A slightly-elevated deejay station was located in the back right corner, behind which a tall guy with over-gelled blond hair was flicking through a black leather binder. The walls were adorned with decorative vines that looked to be made of weathered metal and twisted and turned in every direction, outlining wooden plaques engraved with the names and logos of famous fine wines.

Annabeth stepped to her left and approached the bar. Glancing down the row of guests toward the back wall, she didn't see her target—working or otherwise—and before she could make the decision to go look for him, the other bartender—the thin, dark-haired woman—approached her.

"What'll it be?" she asked with a friendly smile. Annabeth returned the smile and noticed, for the first time being up close, that her blue eyes had a peculiar shine to them, almost like someone had replaced her irises with polished sapphires. It was actually really beautiful, and though she'd never admit it, Annabeth thought she might have felt a twinge of jealousy. Her own eyes were a dull sort of gray that didn't exactly attract the same attention.

"Vodka cranberry and a glass of water," she answered. If her plan was going to work, she would need to drink at least a little.

"You got it," the bartender responded before pulling a small scotch glass from beneath the counter and setting to work.

When the bartender delivered her drink a moment later, Annabeth reached a hand across the bar to keep her attention and said, "I'm actually here to see a guy named Percy. He works here and told me to stop by tonight. Is he around?"

The bartender smiled again, sapphire eyes reflecting the violet light above her. "Sure, he's here," she answered. "I'll go grab him for you."

As she strode quickly away, Annabeth picked up her glass of water and seated herself on a stool, looking out over the rest of the room. There were a decent amount of guests, but not so many as to be too loud or stifling. She could hear the conversations of some of the groups around her, and the music was loud enough to be heard without her having to shout over it, unlike many of the nightclubs she'd visited in the past. She couldn't deny that she liked the atmosphere, and part of her was actually a bit sad that she wouldn't ever be able to visit again after that night.

"Guess you found the place."

Annabeth twisted back around at the familiar voice as her target walked up on the other side of the bar, leaning on its surface and giving her a friendly smile. _Yeah, found it two weeks ago,_ she thought as she replied, "Wasn't exactly hard. How's work going?"

"Same as ever," he replied with a shrug as the other bartender came up behind him. She poked him in the back, causing him to turn around toward her, and Annabeth noticed that they were both dressed in dark violet button-down shirts—Percy's topped with a black vest—that matched the color of the vine leaves adorning the walls perfectly.

"F-Y-I," the bartender said, raising her eyebrows as she pulled two glasses from beneath the bar, "you got a group down there that just came from the floor. While I totally support slacking off to chat up attractive members of the opposite sex, I think you should probably high-tail it before Fresch decides to check up on us."

Percy cringed, shooting a glance over his shoulder. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "Thanks, Silena." Then he turned to Annabeth and explained, "I'm working the back half of the bar, if you want to migrate down that way." He jerked his head in the direction that he'd come from, toward the back of the room.

"Sure," Annabeth replied, finishing her water and instead lifting her other glass and sliding from her stool. She left a few dollars on the bar for the other bartender before stepping away from it. As they headed toward the back of the room, him behind the bar and her between it and the cluster of tables, she sighed shortly. She'd been hoping he wouldn't be busy, which would give them more time to spend together. But she supposed that as long as she was close by, it wouldn't matter. Everything would work out.

Down on his end of the bar, it looked like every stool was either occupied or blocked by small groups of people. Percy rapped his knuckles against the bar in front of one particular person whose foot was resting on the stool beside him, and Annabeth was a little surprised that she recognized him. It was the angry-looking, dark-haired guy that Percy had met with a number of times during the previous week, though he was currently wearing a black leather bomber jacket that covered his sleeves of tattoos.

"One stool, Nico," Percy said to him as he turned his head away from the dance floor. "We've got guests to seat."

He glanced toward Annabeth and gave her a searching look, and she fought the urge to glare at him. Instead, she offered what she hoped was an apologetic smile, and he raised an eyebrow at Percy. "You mean _you've_ got a guest to seat. If 'guest' is what you're calling her." Annabeth noticed that his speech was very slightly accented on some words, like he'd been raised in a foreign country but taught English at a very young age. His tone made her feel like she should be offended, but she didn't let it show on her face as he lowered his leg and twisted around on his stool, leaning his back against the bar and resting both elbows on its surface.

As Annabeth set her drink down on the bar and took a seat, Percy shook his head and gave a sort of wry smile, as though this was a perfectly common situation. "Anna, this is Nico," he said to Annabeth, waving a hand toward the guy beside her. He turned and nodded half-heartedly in greeting. "He haunts this place from time to time. Nico, Anna. I've got some customers, so you guys play nice for a minute, okay?" Annabeth returned his smile as he walked away toward a group of four people that were standing close by.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, she turned back toward Nico, who was watching the room with a bored expression. This could be the perfect time to try and learn more about her target. "So… Nico, right? How do you know Percy?"

Nico turned his head toward her with a slight frown, like he wasn't sure why she was talking to him. "Long-time friend," he answered simply with a half-shrug. "What about you? New girlfriend?"

Annabeth gave a light laugh. "Something like that," she said. "I kind of like him, but… it's hard to get a read on him. I came here hoping I could meet a few friends of his—to try and maybe get some dirt on him, you know?" She shot a glance toward her target, as if to make sure he wasn't listening, before leaning toward Nico with a sort of sly look. "Anything you can tell me about him?"

Nico arched an eyebrow. "You want me to give you 'dirt' on one of my best friends so you know if he's worth going out with?" he said skeptically. Annabeth tilted her head to the side and shrugged, wondering if she'd gone too far, when he gave a short laugh and shook his head, a dry half-smile on his face. "Maybe you're not so bad after all."

"What do you mean 'after all'?" she repeated. "You thought I was?"

He lifted a shoulder. "When you came over, you had this shy, polite sort of look. Girls like that—well, they're not usually what Jackson goes for. But hey, maybe I was wrong about you."

Annabeth frowned, taking a sip from her glass and thinking about that. She'd been going for 'nice girl' all week, and while her target had talked to her and smiled at her and seemed interested, it had taken a lot of prodding for her to get as far as she had. The only time she'd actually felt like she'd connected with him was when they'd talked about the importance of work and life experience—the only time she revealed something _real_ about herself. And at the same time, he had looked at her differently right then—like he had felt connected to _her_, which was her ultimate goal. Maybe, some part of her couldn't help but wonder, she should have just been herself from the beginning.

Excluding the part about being sent to kill him, anyway.

"So you think maybe it could work out?" she said aloud after a silence that was just a breath too long, hoping Nico hadn't noticed.

"What could work out?"

Annabeth turned her head with a start as Percy stepped up to them across the bar, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. She smiled and shook her head, but was saved having to come up with an answer when Percy's eyes shifted to something over her shoulder and his grin widened.

"Lee, hey," he greeted someone, and Annabeth turned around just in time to come face-to-face with a tall man about her age with sand-colored hair loaded with what looked like an entire bottle of hair gel. He had an attractive, angular face and was dressed in a simple, army-green T-shirt and dark blue jeans. A pair of overlarge, black headphones hung from his neck, the cord of which he was swinging in one hand. She thought for a second that he looked vaguely familiar, until she realized that she'd seen him maybe half an hour ago—he was the deejay at the club.

"Yo, Percy," he said with a nod and a smile. "Toss me another bottle of water, will you?"

Percy reached under the bar, shooting Lee a serious look. "That's your seventh one tonight, you know," he said. "I'm gonna have to cut you off soon."

Lee grinned and said sarcastically, "Ha, ha," as Percy straightened and threw a bottle of water over the bar. The deejay reached up and snatched it out of the air before gesturing to Nico. "I think _he's_ the one you need to watch," he said teasingly. "Barely old enough to drink and already way better at it than me."

Nico snorted in amusement. "Can't all be as lightweight as you, Fletcher," he said with a smirk.

Lee laughed. "Maybe I've just got better things to do with my time than build up a tolerance," he responded. "And speaking of which, I gotta hit it. Song's almost done." With one final grin and friendly wave, he turned and made his way across the room, disappearing into the crowd.

"You all seem pretty close," Annabeth observed, glancing from where Lee had disappeared back toward Percy and Nico. "I'll admit, I'm kind of jealous. When I moved here, I left everybody I know behind. Sure, we still talk, but it's not the same as having people to hang out with, you know?"

Percy smiled and leaned forward on the bar. "Thing about this place is, everybody's friendly. Well, Nico you have to catch on a good day, but everyone else…"

"Hey," Nico interjected with a frown, before he shrugged and agreed, "Alright." Percy laughed lightly and Annabeth felt herself smile genuinely. It was funny that under different circumstances, these actually seemed like people she could make friends with. It was too bad that her job required as much of her as it did.

"What I mean is," Percy went on, "you're always welcome to hang out here. Nothing wrong with making a few new friends, right?"

Annabeth returned his easy grin, wishing that were true. "Right."

-0-0-0-

Given that her target finished his shift at 2:00 A.M., Annabeth knew she would need to stick around for a while, which she had no problem doing as it gave her more time to try and figure out what he was involved in. Unfortunately, though, the universe wasn't on her side, and the night didn't exactly pan out that way. Between 11:00 and 1:00, the place was busiest, so she didn't have much time to talk to him while he worked, and Nico left around midnight, leaving her more or less alone.

As the night wore on, she worked slowly through a few successive drinks—not enough to get her drunk, of course, as she would need her focus intact, but enough that she could act convincingly inebriated. She started to talk louder and giggle more and gesture a bit wildly when she spoke, and judging by the looks on Percy and Nico's faces, her act was adequate.

At 2:00, there were only a handful of people left in the club when the employees started giving the call for closing time. The other bartender—Silena, Percy had called her—was sure to make certain that her regulars had rides home and were taken care of as she cleaned up her station, bidding them goodbye with her pretty, friendly smile.

"Guess I should go," Annabeth said as Percy cleaned out the last of his dirty glasses and replaced it beneath the bar. She stepped down from the stool and purposely stumbled a bit, topping it off with a weak giggle and a small, "Whoops."

Percy gave her a skeptical look. "Where did you say you lived again?" he asked.

"Manhattan," she answered. "Greenwich Village. I'll probably just take the subway. Time-consuming, but reliable." She shrugged and grinned. She started to walk away from the bar, running herself into another stool in the process.

"Uh, maybe you should call a cab," he suggested, an expression somewhere between amused and worried on his face as he wiped down the countertop and tossed the rag over his shoulder.

"Maybe you're right," Annabeth agreed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, then promptly dropped it on the hardwood floor.

Percy cringed and shook his head. "On second thought, maybe I'd better get you home. I'm a little worried about setting you loose on the world in your, uh… condition."

"All the way back to the Village?" Annabeth said. "I couldn't ask you to do that. You wouldn't even be home until… a long time from now." Rachel's words from earlier that evening echoed in Annabeth's mind: _You're gonna have to play to the whole 'nice guy' thing. Make him think he's doing you a favor by taking you home._ At the moment, this was the only plan she had. It was now or never—all she needed was just a little luck.

Percy worked his jaw back and forth and regarded her with a thoughtful frown for a moment, before he finally gave a short sigh and said, "Why don't you just come spend the night at my place? It's closer and I can offer you a couch to crash on until you, you know, find your balance."

_Finally!_ Annabeth thought. For the sake of not appearing too eager, she replied, "No, no, I don't need—" She broke off as she picked up her phone and once again let it slip from her grasp, then sighed in apparent defeat. "That's really nice of you. Thank you."

"No problem," he said with a shrug, "just don't make a habit out of this or we may have to ban you from the club." He raised an eyebrow and gave her a wry smirk, and she laughed lightly in reply. "I'm about done here. Just need to get the okay-go from—"

"Johnson," a voice interrupted.

Percy spun to the side as a short, pot-bellied man with dark, curly hair and a permanent scowl strode up to them. Annabeth blinked in slight surprise, the bright tiger stripes on his button-down shirt almost hurting her eyes. "Jackson," Percy corrected the man reflexively, sounding like he did it so often he'd grown used to it.

The man ignored him. "Have you finished cleaning up?" he asked, surveying the stores of glasses and bottles behind Percy. His eyes were dark and a bit bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days, but he seemed perfectly alert. "Replaced the dishes, organized the stocks, wiped and dusted the bar?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Percy replied. "You don't need to check up on me every night, Damien, I think I've got it by now."

The man narrowed his eyes. "I see no problem with ensuring that my employees complete their jobs to a satisfactory level. …Very well. If you've finished your list, you may go. Make sure you're on time tomorrow. Oh, and tell Miss Beauregard to get going as well. I swear, I never knew a place could be _too_ clean until I hired her."

"Sure thing," Percy replied with an amused grin. The man grunted in approval and strode quickly past him, heading toward the far cash register.

"Who was that?" Annabeth asked in a slightly hushed voice, deciding that since she was pretending to be drunk she may as well use the opportunity to ask the questions she couldn't normally ask. "He didn't seem very nice."

Percy smirked in amusement. "Damien Fresch," he explained. "He owns the place."

Thinking back to their conversation earlier that day, she frowned and pointed out, "You said he was friends with your dad."

"Yeah," he agreed, but rather than elaborate on the subject he gestured toward the door and said, "Let's get out of here. Think you can make it to the door without falling over?"

"Ha, ha," Annabeth said sarcastically, though she allowed a smile.

After all, the evening had gone perfectly. All that was left would be to follow him home and finish the job.

* * *

**Almost go-time! Things get exciting next chapter, heh heh.**

**Throw me a review on your way by, and I'll see you all again pretty soon. Have a good New Year's, everybody! Party hard! (I know I will, haha. Right now I'm off to make about 80 Jell-O shots for tonight...)**

**-oMM**


	7. Sixth

**Whoa, only two days? What's going on?**

**Well, I already had this chapter written (first one I wrote, actually), so I figured hey, why not? I think you guys are gonna like this one, too. This is one of my favorite chapters. Super fun to write. Time for things to start heating up! Heh heh.**

**Thanks to everybody who reviewed last chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

Take my **hand** tonight / One _last_ time

* * *

The subway ride back to Cypress Hills took just under half an hour, but for Annabeth it seemed much longer. For part of it, she leaned against a rail and pretended to sleep, all the while her mind working on overdrive and adrenaline beginning to rush in her veins.

Tonight was the night. She was going with her target back to his apartment. They would be alone. It was the perfect opportunity. The plan she settled on was to take him up on his offer to sleep on the couch, wait until he was asleep himself, and then finish the job. It would be seamless—a perfect testament to her skill and strategy. Duke Atlas would praise her work, like he often did, and maybe—if she was lucky, and she _really_ hoped she was—Victor Kronos would take notice.

As she planned her night, though, she could feel something tugging at the back of her mind—a tiny glint of doubt and curiosity that she wasn't sure she had ever experienced in this situation before. Was she really so disappointed that she'd been unable to discover the true reason for this assignment that she was starting to feel reluctant to finish it? Or was there another reason? Sure, her target was interesting enough. And nice enough, funny enough, cute enough—but none of that really mattered, right? At least, it shouldn't. It never had before. Not to her.

But for some strange reason she didn't—couldn't—understand, it did.

When they got off the train, Annabeth remembered that she was supposed to be too drunk to go home and was sure to stumble a bit. She regretted it instantly, however, when her target grabbed her arm to steady her and a strangely warm chill jittered across her skin at his touch. She smiled and thanked him, though inside she was screaming in frustration. Additional distractions were _not_ what she needed at the moment. And the fact that he maintained a loose hold on her the entire walk home—just in case she were to take another spontaneous dive toward the sidewalk—certainly didn't help matters.

When they finally reached their destination, Annabeth pushed everything back and took a few deep breaths, steeling her mind for the task she was prepared to accomplish.

"Nice place," she said once she'd stepped through the apartment doorway, taking in the sight of the small, comfortable living room. It wasn't exactly neat, but it wasn't a total mess, either. It looked… lived in, which was a nice change to the apartments and hotels she was so used to staying in.

"It's alright," Percy replied lightly from behind her as he closed and locked the door. "Nice to see the inside after watching the building for so long, huh?"

Annabeth frowned, a warning light flicking on in her head. "Excuse me?" she asked politely. She turned around and froze, eyes darting to the barrel of the Browning 9mm handgun aimed at her face. "Wh-What are you _doing?_" she demanded shrilly, feigning her best look of wide-eyed fear and raising her hands defensively while her brain worked to try and process the situation. So far, this wasn't _exactly_ how she'd pictured the night going.

"Why don't you tell me who you really are?" Percy asked sharply, all humor gone from his voice and his expression as he held his gun steady. Annabeth thought with a spark of alarm that this was the first time she'd seen him look angry. "You think I didn't notice you following me last week?"

Annabeth took a step backward. She continued to act scared and innocent as she quickly shifted gears and began to formulate a course of action. Things had changed, and her original plan no longer mattered. If she could get to the gun strapped to her thigh, she was confident enough in her abilities to overpower him, assuming he wasn't professionally trained like she was. "I don't know what you're talking about," she wailed convincingly. "Please. I just met you a few days ago!"

"You're good, I'll give you that—not sure anybody else would've known a thing," Percy went on as though she hadn't spoken. "If I had to guess—" Suddenly his expression darkened and he narrowed his eyes. "You're CIA, aren't you? Damn it… I could've sworn they didn't know."

Suddenly Annabeth felt an unbidden spark of curiosity. This guy was obviously more than the average person he'd appeared to be, seeing as he was aware that he was being followed and apparently had been using Annabeth all the while she was using him. They'd both had the same goal—to get the other one alone. Part of her wondered why, then, he'd made it so difficult for her—until she realized that if he hadn't, she might have been suspicious. And somehow, he must have known that. Atlas wouldn't tell her who he was, and thus far she'd been unable to figure it out for herself—but maybe this was just the opportunity she needed. "Why would the CIA be after you?" she asked, making the question sound like frantic disbelief rather than general curiosity.

Percy scowled. "Aw, cut the act. You're gonna—" He broke off, a look of realization crossing his face as he studied Annabeth's expression. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked, sounding amused. Annabeth cursed herself for letting even the slightest waver appear on her face, and tried not to be impressed that he had noticed. Anger began to boil inside her as Percy laughed. "You mean they sent you after me and didn't even tell you why? Man, what the hell kind of organization is Kronos running?"

The name _Kronos_ had an instant clearing effect on Annabeth's mind. The only people who threw around the name of the Director of the CIA like that were big-name government officials, CIA operatives, and dangerous criminals. And she knew for a fact that Percy Jackson did not fall under two of those categories.

"Alright, fine," she said calmly, dropping her hands to her sides and allowing her expression to harden into a dry glare. Gone were her act of drunkenness and her act of innocence. It was time to finish the job. "I've got no intention of letting you leave this room, so I might as well tell you. My name is Annabeth Chase, and yes, I work for the CIA." She took a slow step toward him, then another, locking eyes with him to make sure his gaze stayed where she wanted it to. He had a guarded look on his face, but his stature never faltered as she stared him down. "I don't know who you are, and frankly, I don't care," she went on. "It's not my job to figure you out. It's my job to take you down. And now that all the cards are on the table," she paused and smiled sweetly, eyes hard, "I think my lunch break's over."

As fast as lightning, Annabeth ducked low and swung her left arm out, knocking Percy's outstretched wrist to the side. A gunshot blared, but she heard it strike the wall far behind her. She spun and drove her elbow backward, aiming for his stomach, but he shifted to the side. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She gritted her teeth and jerked backward, ramming the back of her head against his chin and causing him to stumble and lose his grip. She wrapped both hands around his right arm—the one still holding the handgun—and pulled, judo-flipping him over her shoulder and onto the ground. The gun fell from his fingers, but he spun on the floor faster than Annabeth could watch and kicked her legs out from under her.

She jolted upright, but he'd already lunged for her, and she was forced back as his fist collided with the side of her jaw. She slid further down the floor to avoid his second strike, tasting blood in her mouth, and used the ground as leverage to kick her thigh upward and knee him between the legs. She smirked at the desired effect—he yelled through gritted teeth and lost his concentration, allowing her to gift him with a return slug across the jaw and knock him away from her. She sprang to a crouch and made a grab for the thin handle of the five-foot lamp stand near the end table behind her. She gripped it in both hands and swung it at Percy like a spear. He rolled aside and the crystal bulb cover smashed against the ground, littering the carpet with tiny shards of glass.

As Annabeth hefted the lamp stand again, Percy darted toward the fireplace just to his left and pulled an iron poker from the stand beside the grate. She swung the stand toward his legs, but he caught it in the hooked end of the fire poker and drove it against the ground, stepping on the broken end so she couldn't lift it again. Annabeth clucked her tongue and ducked as he swung the iron poker at her head. She leapt backward and scanned her immediate surroundings. She grabbed an eight-by-ten-inch aluminum picture frame from the end table she'd passed before and gripped it like a shield. She swung it in front of her and used its edge to block the next swing of the iron fire poker, shifting her grip so as to catch its hook. Feeling the glass layer of the frame crack beneath her fingers, she thrust both hands to the side, wrenching the poker from Percy's grasp and dropping both makeshift weapons to the floor.

He lunged for her again, but this time she was ready. She leaned back to avoid his fist and swung her right leg at his side. Her shin collided with his ribs, but he lowered his arm quickly and grabbed her leg, forcing her to balance on her left leg alone. She angled her upper body and pushed herself forward, trying to ignore the tingle in her skin as his hand consequently slid higher up her thigh, pushing back the hem of her dress. She noticed his eyes flit downward for the briefest second before he steeled his expression, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking along the same lines as she was. Then she immediately scolded herself for wondering at all.

Annabeth leaned her weight on her left leg and hooked her still-trapped right leg around Percy's back. She spun them both to the side and just as she'd hoped, he released his hold on her thigh and grabbed the back of the armchair behind them to keep from falling. While she had the advantage of balance, she sidestepped and shoved Percy hard in the shoulders, pushing him over the back of the armchair. At the last second he grabbed her braid which had swung around her neck and yanked her alongside him, and she cried out through clenched teeth as she too toppled over the armchair. She did her best to roll over the cushion and stumbled to a crouch on the floor as the back of Percy's head hit the edge of the coffee table that was sitting just barely too close to the chair. He dropped to the ground, looking dazed.

Seizing her opportunity, Annabeth jumped to her feet and started to lift her dress and grab for her gun, but she underestimated her opponent's recovery time. In seconds he'd shaken his head and seemingly regained his bearings, and he lunged forward and wrapped both arms around Annabeth's legs. She yelped in surprise as he lifted her into the air, but rather than fall like he'd probably been hoping she flipped over his back and landed in a crouch just behind him. She kicked out her leg and spun around, trying to knock Percy's feet out from under him, but he saw her movement and jumped just in time. Unfortunately for him, however, that left him no time to dodge her other leg, with which she aimed a high-heeled kick at the center of his chest. He grunted in pain and fell backward onto the ground.

Percy rolled onto his hands and knees and made a grab for his gun, which was very near his right hand. Annabeth sprang to her feet just as he turned and shot her a hard glare, both hands wrapped around the handgun. She ducked and ran as he fired four shots at her, each one barely missing and instead tearing through something in his living room. She leapt behind the sofa and dropped into a crouch, listening for movement and hoping he didn't have thin walls or paranoid neighbors. She couldn't imagine what they'd be hearing.

Annabeth was surprised. Oftentimes, she was pitted against people—especially men—who put up a decent fight. But she was always the calmer of the combatants, and therefore never had a difficult time unhinging and slipping up her opponent. But Percy Jackson fought differently. He had the same hard, serious look on his face that she saw every time she practiced in front of a mirror. His moves may not have been quite as by-the-book as hers, but this was clearly not his first fight against another experienced adversary. He knew what he was doing, and as much as Annabeth hated it, it only made her want more desperately to understand who he was. And as if that wasn't enough, every time they touched she felt that same odd spark of energy—that tiny hint of dangerous interest that she couldn't ignore or explain. It was maddening. And worse, it was interfering with her concentration. She had a job to do.

Finally, the brief respite allowed her enough time to extract her own 45-milimeter from its holster strapped to the inside of her thigh. She quickly released the safety and cocked the gun, gripping it in both hands. She took a deep, steadying breath, adrenaline rushing through her veins, and dove out from behind the couch. Percy had begun to edge around the other side, but her movement caught his eye instantly. She aimed her pistol and fired three consecutive shots, but he had already ducked behind a bookcase near the kitchen doorway. Two of her shots pierced the third shelf on the bookcase, which collapsed and cascaded an array of books, magazines, and random trinkets onto the floor. As soon as she paused, he spun around the bookcase and fired two shots of his own. Annabeth dropped to the floor to avoid being hit, listening as the bullets tore through the couch cushions instead of her body.

There wasn't much cover between her location near the door and his behind the bookcase. If she wanted to get to him, she would have to be fast. Either that, or wait until he'd exhausted his round of ammunition and had no weapon. But before, she hadn't known he'd been carrying the gun at all. For all she knew now, he could have ten replacement magazines hidden somewhere in his clothes. No, she would have to make a move. She was CIA, damn it, and she would get this guy just like she did all the others.

Annabeth ducked around the couch again and fired three more shots at the bookcase, just so he would think he knew where she was. Then she rolled to the side and crept silently around the back of the armchair across from the sofa, making sure to stay hidden as her opponent leaned out and fired again. As soon as he'd disappeared, she made a mad dash for the other end of the bookcase, aiming to catch him from behind, but somehow he had just barely anticipated her once again. He ducked out from behind her side of the bookcase and thrust his elbow into her gut, knocking the wind out of her. But she could take a hit, couldn't she? Recovering quickly, she drove the pointed heel of her shoe down on his foot and when he hunched forward, she followed up by smacking him under the chin with the barrel of her gun. He stumbled backward, but came back quickly with a right hook to her cheekbone. Her vision shifted momentarily out of focus, so that when he used his own gun to punch her in the stomach, she was considerably less prepared.

Gasping for breath, Annabeth's eyes darted toward the bookshelf just to her right. On the second shelf from the top was a ceramic sculpture of some kind of tentacled sea creature. Not bothering to try and recognize it, she grabbed it and swung it outward, smashing it against the upper right side of Percy's head. He yelled in pain as the painted glass shattered and scraped his scalp and face, raining down onto his shoulder and the floor. Annabeth was about to raise her gun and finish the job when, without looking up, he staggered forward and rammed his shoulder into her chest, shoving her backward off her feet. Her back landed against the coffee table in the center of the room and its legs snapped beneath the weight, dropping both Annabeth and Percy to the ground amid the broken wood.

Annabeth swore under her breath as dull pain spiked up her back and shoulders from the impact. Percy extended his arms and leaned over her, anger in his sea-green eyes. She grabbed both his arms before he could launch another attack and pulled him down beside her, rolling them both off the broken coffee table. For a second, they were tangled together between the table and the couch, but finally Annabeth was able to regain her balance and her bearings and force herself on top of Percy, straddling his waist. She twisted his arm until the handgun fell from his fingers, allowing her to kick it across the room and out of his reach. Then with one hand she held one of his wrists to the floor and with the other she jammed the barrel of her pistol against the side of his head.

Checkmate.

Percy glared at her with fury in his eyes. But the strange thing was that it wasn't blind, wild fury like she'd seen in so many others before him. His fury was cool and calm, controlled. He knew how to use his anger. And at the moment he seemed to know that it wouldn't help him—that he was stuck. He was so different from anyone Annabeth had fought before, and when she studied his eyes she felt that increasingly familiar stirring in the pit of her stomach. Her skin still tingled everywhere it had touched his. It reminded her of her first days at the agency, when Luke Castellan had showed her some more advanced firing techniques. Whenever he'd touched her, her skin would tickle with warmth. This was similar, but so much more powerful.

"Who are you?" Annabeth demanded harshly, breathing rapidly from so much physical exertion.

"I thought it didn't matter?" Percy challenged her, sounding just as out of breath as she was. Blood was dripping down his forehead and into his left eye, but he ignored it. "I'm a target. So what are you waiting for? Kill me!"

Annabeth knew what she had to do. She'd won. Her gun was to her target's head and all she had to do was pull the trigger. She didn't know who he was, but she didn't need to. She never did. All she ever needed was a name and a face. Details were unimportant.

So why did they matter so much now? Why was she itching to know just who this man was? Why did her body grow hot and her mind dull when she thought of him? Why did his piercing green eyes feel like they could see into her soul? Why did she feel so different and so right being near him, even when they were trying to kill each other?

_He's just another target_, Annabeth told herself. _This is no different from any other assignment. It's already over. Just pull the trigger._

But she didn't. Because the fact of the matter was that this _was_ different. _He_ was different. And even though he told her to, she didn't want to kill him. Every thought and instinct in her body was screaming at her to _fire the gun_, but she ignored them all and did something entirely different. She dropped down low and kissed him harder than any punch she'd ever thrown.

Immediately it was like some sort of invisible barrier had vanished. Percy's response was almost instantaneous, like he'd been wanting it as badly as she had. His free hand wrapped around the back of her neck and twisted in her messy braid, pulling her even closer so that she practically felt the bruises forming on her lips. But that didn't matter. Warm sparks of electricity were arcing through Annabeth's body, making her senses come alive in a way that fighting never quite accomplished. She felt like all her life she'd been wrapped in tight ropes she couldn't see or feel, and now suddenly they were cut loose, allowing her to move and feel freely for the first time. She dropped her gun on the floor and pressed both hands against Percy's chest, tightening her fists in the fabric of his vest. His right arm now free, he wrapped it around her lower back and held her tightly as he leaned up from the floor and flipped her onto her back, his mouth never leaving hers.

Annabeth arched her back and leaned into the kiss, not even wanting to stop for breath. His tongue tasted like saltwater—cool and tangy, like he'd been drinking from the ocean—which made her feel strangely giddy. She slipped her hands under his shirt, pressing her tingling fingers against the lean muscles on his chest. His skin felt hot beneath her touch, a temperature she was sure her own body was matching as he slid his hand up the outside of her thigh, pushing the hem of her skirt past her gun holster and almost to her hips.

Finally they separated, and Annabeth realized that her lungs had been so empty she'd begun to get lightheaded. She gasped a few heaving breaths, exhausted this time from a whole different kind of physical exertion. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. She locked eyes with Percy and for a long minute neither of them moved or spoke. She studied the look on his face. The guarded mask he'd worn earlier had vanished, leaving behind a wild mix of emotions that Annabeth had a difficult time deciphering. He looked uncertain, like he almost didn't believe what had just happened. She thought part of him was almost daring her to pull her gun on him again, but behind that there was a dark, unmistakable desire in his sea-green eyes. He wanted her just as badly as she now knew she wanted him.

At last Annabeth allowed a playful smirk to spread across her face. She tightened her fingers against the skin of his chest and felt his breath quicken. "Still want me to finish the job?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Percy returned the smirk, looking down at Annabeth with fire in his eyes. She felt her own breathing turn rougher and she could have sworn her heart flipped full-circle as he leaned down and answered, "Definitely."

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**Yes! And things get complicated - and of course, also more fun. Leave me a review and let me know what you think!**

**Later days, gang!**

**-oMM**


	8. Seventh

**Hi again, everybody! It's Thursday once again, which means update time! Kind of a short one today, but still good I think.**

**Thanks so much for all the great reception to the last chapter! Haha. Reading all your reviews made me smile :) I love to hear from you guys. It makes this whole experience that much better.**

**Side-note, for anyone wondering about the song lyrics I keep sticking at the beginnings of the chapters, they're from the song "Take My Hand" by Simple Plan. During my outlining phase, it was a toss-up between Take My Hand and Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult, but this lyric here and the one next chapter were actually what made me choose this song. Some of the later ones fit so perfectly with my tone. It's like I think through music sometimes. Best muse there is, really.**

**Enjoy!**

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The city _sleeps_ and we're **lost **in the moment / Another **kiss** as we're lyin' on the _pavement_

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Annabeth's subconscious mind must have been dreading the morning, because she was much slower to wake than usual. Fighting an exhausting wave of drowsiness, she stretched her arms and was finally able to open her eyes—only to be met with a sand-colored ceiling that was definitely not the one in her CIA-owned Manhattan apartment. She frowned in mild confusion, blinking a few times, before everything came rushing back at once like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head.

She sat up so fast her vision dotted and swam with black spots. Once they cleared, her eyes swiveled back and forth, drinking in the sight of the room around her—the bedroom of Percy Jackson's apartment. The same apartment she'd entered last night with every intention of killing its owner. Suffice it to say, that wasn't exactly what had happened.

Annabeth reflexively pulled the bedsheet up to her neck to cover her bare chest, though she'd already realized that the room was empty aside from her. She sat stock-still for what felt like an eternity, her mind somewhere between frozen blank and exploding with thoughts. Among them, two were foremost. First: She'd failed her assignment. This had been her one chance to showcase her process in hopes that the Director would praise her, and she'd failed. For the first time ever. And second: Some part of her—the part that had been inexplicably attracted to her target and was now trying to take over her body—was _glad_ she'd failed.

The big problem that had just begun tugging at her train of thought, however, was this: What now?

She twisted around and caught a glimpse of the digital clock beside the bed, which read 9:43 in bright blue light, and almost choked on her own breath. "No, no, no…" she muttered as she threw herself off the bed and grabbed her clothes, which were strewn on the floor across the room. Once she'd dressed, she found her gun, holster, and cell phone sitting neatly on the bedside table and snatched them up, strapping the weapon to her leg and pressing the lock button on her phone. She gave a helpless groan when she noticed the three missed calls—one from Rachel, one from Luke, and one from Atlas, all probably wondering why she hadn't called in or returned earlier that morning.

She stepped out into the living room quietly and tentatively only to find it also vacated. She bit her lip and surveyed the area—until she remembered that it was Saturday, which meant that Percy would be working at the Blue Lantern right now. He wasn't there. She was safe.

But was she, really? She would have to face him eventually—and not only him, but also her superiors at the agency. And what would she tell them? She could always bargain for more time—tell them that things hadn't gone as planned and she would complete the assignment as soon as she could. That was all she could do, right? What she _had_ to do.

But when she thought about killing him, something just seemed off—like she couldn't imagine herself going through with it. It baffled her, to be honest. After all, he had tried to kill _her_ last night as well, hadn't he?

_But then… He could have killed me this morning while I was asleep,_ that rebellious half of her mind argued rationally, and the other half had to concede the point.

Either way, the first step was to get out of there and get back to her own apartment. Then and only then would she be able to calm down enough to figure out what to do.

As she reached the front door, she froze and held her breath. A folded sheet of paper was taped to the doorknob, clearly put there so she couldn't possibly miss it. _Annabeth_ was scrawled across the front. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, hardening her expression even though there was no one around to see it, before grabbing it and unfolding it to reveal a hastily-written note.

_In case you haven't guessed, I'm not going to kill you, even though I know who you are. If you still want to kill me, you know where to find me. If not, you've got two options. You can either leave town, or meet me outside the Grapevine tonight after closing. I think we've got some things to talk about._

Frustrated, Annabeth tightened her hands into fists, crumpling the note. So she had until 2:00 A.M. to figure out what she wanted to do. That gave her a day. Unfortunately, she felt like she could take a lifetime and still be unable to figure things out.

Shaking her head, she hurried out of the apartment building, taking a few heavy breaths of the cool, October morning air and hoping they would help clear her mind. She pondered over her predicament all the way back to her apartment building, and then still while she showered and changed clothes, and once all that was done she still hadn't decided what to do. One thing, however, was certain—she had to call Atlas and explain to him some version of why she had yet to return.

"Duke Atlas," he answered gruffly on the third ring.

"Morning, sir," she responded in an even voice. "Annabeth Chase. Sorry I missed your call."

"Agent Chase," came the reply. "You were scheduled to return to Langley early this morning, but my source informs me that your assignment hasn't been completed. I trust you have a good explanation."

Annabeth leaned back against her desk, keeping herself as calm as possible. "Things haven't progressed as quickly as I would have liked," she answered. "This target is… different. It's been difficult for me to get a good read on him." The best lies were always part-truths, after all, though she decided not to mention that said target now knew that she was working for the CIA.

"Hmm, yes," Atlas said thoughtfully. "I was worried about that. How's your progress?"

"Moving along. I just need a bit more time to get him alone—maybe another few days."

"Should I send back-up?"

Annabeth's throat tightened. That was the _last_ thing she needed. "No, I can handle one guy," she said off-handedly. "It'll just take a bit longer, if you want it clean."

"Clean is always preferred," the Deputy Director agreed. "Right, then. Take some more time, and make sure it's done right. Thanks for calling in."

"Of course, sir," Annabeth replied dutifully. "Thank you." He hung up, signaling her to do the same.

For a long time, she continued to stand in silence, leaning on her computer desk and thinking about what she'd just done. Not only had she botched an important assignment, but she had lied to her superior about doing so. She couldn't shake the nasty feeling that all she was doing was digging herself into a hole and with every shovelful her chances of escape dwindled lower. The rational thing to do would be to track Jackson down and finish the job—take him out and return home to Langley as soon as possible. But she was still _so unsure_ if that was what she wanted.

With little else to do, Annabeth decided to make one more call to the one person she knew she could trust with the truth—Rachel.

"Annabeth?" Rachel said immediately after only one ring.

Annabeth smiled a little, glad to hear her friend's voice. "Hi, Rachel."

"Where are you?" Rachel asked quickly. "What happened? When we talked yesterday, you seemed so ready to finish your assignment—perfect opportunity and everything. And then this morning I heard you didn't do it. What gives?"

"I _did_ have the perfect opportunity," Annabeth admitted. "But I… I messed up. Hugely."

Rachel scoffed. "You? You _never_ mess up. Annabeth, you sound kind of freaked. Are you alright?"

"I don't know," Annabeth answered honestly. She was beginning to wonder the same thing herself.

Rachel was quiet for a few seconds, and Annabeth imagined her chewing her lip with a worried frown. "I want details," she said finally. "Now."

Annabeth sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. "Everything was going great," she explained. "I stuck around at the club 'til closing time and pretended to be drunk, and he offered to let me stay at his place for the night."

"Great," Rachel agreed. "Play to the 'nice-guy' thing. Just like I said."

"Exactly. But when we got there…" Annabeth trailed off, not sure how to explain what had happened. "Look, this is bad, okay? You have to promise me you won't tell _anyone_ what I tell you."

"You know you can trust me," Rachel insisted, and Annabeth noticed that her voice had gone up in interest. She wasn't exactly surprised. She never had stories like this to tell after an assignment.

"…It was a trap," she said after a deep breath. "He knew I'd been following him. He figured out I'm CIA."

"_What?_ And you _still_ didn't kill him?"

"I _tried_," Annabeth argued truthfully. "He pulled a gun on me, and I fought back. It was weird, the way he fought. Like he had at least as much experience as I do—maybe more."

"Well, yeah," Rachel said. "He's a _criminal_."

"I know, but it was… different. Cleaner, more careful. I don't know, it was just difficult."

Rachel sighed shortly. "Did he beat you?" she asked, disbelief in her voice.

"No," Annabeth answered carefully. "I won. I could have killed him. I had the perfect chance."

"Then why didn't you?" Rachel prompted, sounding like she didn't understand—for which Annabeth couldn't blame her.

"I wanted to," she said, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than her friend, "and then… suddenly I didn't want to. I couldn't do it. So… I kind of…" Annabeth swallowed past the lump in her throat before finishing weakly, "had sex with him instead."

A dull _thunk_ sounded, and Annabeth realized Rachel must have dropped her phone. After a second her voice returned and said in a low hiss, "You did _what?_ Annabeth, I know I told you to do it, but I didn't mean _after_ you tried to kill each other!"

"I know!" Annabeth shot back desperately. "It was stupid! Why do you think I've been freaking out all day? I know how important this job was and I've gone and screwed it up. All because I wouldn't kill him when I had the chance. And then this morning, he left me note asking me to meet him tonight if there's a chance I don't want to go through with the job and I just… I don't know what to do."

"Annabeth," Rachel interrupted evenly. Annabeth was sure her friend was going to tell her that the answer was obvious—she should find her target as quickly as possible and take him out. But instead, she asked in a serious voice, "Do you _like_ him? I mean, for _real?_"

Annabeth was silent for a minute. Rachel wasn't taunting her—there was no wonder or disbelief in her voice. She really wanted to know. And to be honest, so did Annabeth. "I don't know," she answered. "Maybe? Yes? I… I think I might." At the moment, that was the best she could do.

"Well, that complicates things," Rachel noted, and Annabeth forced a kind of weak, nervous laugh. 'Complicated' was definitely one way to describe her situation. Rachel breathed in sharply before adding, "I guess this wouldn't be the best time to tell you that I overheard an interesting conversation between Castellan and Atlas yesterday."

"What about?" Annabeth asked carefully, wincing a bit at the thought of another complication.

"Your target," Rachel answered. "I was working late on a profile last night and when I went to turn my analysis in to Atlas, I heard them mention your guy—his name's Jackson, right? I didn't hear much, just that the job had to be finished and that they trusted you to do it." Annabeth placed a hand to her temple, massaging the beginnings of a headache. So much for Atlas's trust in her. "And also…" Rachel paused, like she was deciding whether or not to go on, "…how it would hurt Olympus."

Annabeth's heart stopped cold. Olympus. She'd been dreading another complication, and nothing could _possibly_ complicate her situation more than that word.

Olympus was the largest and most influential criminal organization in the United States. Its factions specialized in illegal business and trade operations, namely the buying and selling of weapons, technology, equipment, services, and other contraband. The organization had also, in the past, been accused of fraud, money laundering, embezzlement, and a score of different felonies. Not much was known about the inner workings of the organization, aside from their apparent infatuation with Greek mythology—every key member was given a codename based on an important mythological figure. Every key member, including Annabeth's mother.

Years ago, Adelyn Chase had worked as an industrial engineer for the Washington, D.C. office of Westinghouse—and when she'd been apprehended and convicted of felony, she'd been exposed as codename Athena, the head expansion engineer for Olympus. After her mother's trial, people looked at Annabeth differently—like she was the spawn of a demon and couldn't be trusted. From that day, Annabeth had vowed to herself that one day she would earn respect for her family name by taking down the organization that had sullied it—the very organization to which her criminal of a mother had once belonged. That was why she'd joined the CIA. Everyone at the agency understood the threat Olympus posed, but no one there had as much motivation as Annabeth did for taking them down.

"You're saying…" she muttered after a long silence, "that Percy could be involved with Olympus." Honestly, she didn't know why she hadn't considered that option before. The assignment was too rushed and too confidential. Though she didn't want it to, it made perfect sense.

"I hate to say it, Annabeth, but… the way they were talking? I think it's highly likely." Rachel sounded reluctant, and Annabeth really believed that she was. She understood Annabeth's disdain for the organization, and now that she'd heard her confession, this news couldn't be much easier to give than it was to receive. "Hey, you know, there's really only one way to find out for sure," Rachel went on after a minute. "You said he asked you to meet him tonight, right? Maybe you should go. Ask him yourself."

"You really think he'll tell me?" Annabeth asked doubtfully.

"Don't give him a choice," Rachel replied simply. "_Make_ him tell you."

Annabeth considered this. She knew that Rachel was right about it being the only way—it wasn't like Atlas was going to give her any more information. If she wanted to know the truth, she would have to ask her target herself, and hope that if she didn't like his answer, this time she'd be strong enough to pull the trigger.

"Alright," she finally said, some of her usual confidence starting to return. "I'll get it out of him somehow."

Rachel paused a moment, then asked carefully, "What will you do once you know?"

Annabeth wanted to give an answer, but she realized she didn't have one, and her head was starting to ache more insistently. "I'm just gonna take this one step at a time," she settled on replying.

"Okay," Rachel said, worry in her voice. "Good luck, Annabeth. And be careful."

Annabeth forced a smile, though she knew Rachel couldn't see her. She supposed it was more for herself—just to prove that she still could. "Thanks. I'll call you later."

"You'd better."

Annabeth hung up her phone and dropped heavily onto the desk chair beside her. She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands, only one thought coursing through her mind.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

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**I've been working on some of the later chapters, and I have to say the second half of the chapters are a lot longer than these. It's weird. Not sure how that happened, but I think we'll be alright. So stick with me, because things are about to get nutty.**

**Reviews are love, friends! Later days!**

**-oMM**


	9. Eighth

**'Lo there! Happy Thursday! God, is this week dragging for anyone else? I swear it should be AT LEAST Friday by now. UGH.**

**Anyway, thanks bunches to everybody for reading/reviewing :D Ready to get some more inside info? Enjoy!**

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If they could _see us_, they would tell us that we're **crazy** / But I **know** they just _don't understand_

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The previous night, Annabeth, Percy, and Silena had exited through the side door of the Grapevine after closing time, so that was where she chose to wait just before 2:00 A.M. The building cast a dark shadow in the alley between the nightclub and the restaurant beside it, which had closed hours ago, giving her the perfect cover in case anyone happened to walk by on the sidewalk.

As she waited, armed and repeating her intentions over and over in her head, the other club employees slowly trickled out—the deejay, Lee, at 2:05, a dark-haired girl Annabeth didn't recognize a few minutes later, and Silena between 2:15 and 2:20. Another ten minutes passed before the door opened again and finally her target stepped out—though, surprisingly, he wasn't alone.

"…know why you're worrying so much," Percy was saying, his voice a little lower than usual. "Paul and Aimee made sure the location was secure. And you _know_ how meticulous Aimee is. If the place was bugged, she would have found it."

"You think I don't know that?" the other person shot back in a harsh whisper, and as he leaned against the side of the building Annabeth recognized him—it was Nico, though what he was doing there after hours, she had no idea. "I just can't shake the feeling that we aren't being careful enough. There's a lot riding on this, you know."

"I know," Percy agreed seriously. "Look, we've got a good team signed up. Hardly anybody even knows about the deal at all. Everything's gonna run smoothly, alright?" He thumped a hand on Nico's shoulder and added, "Trust me, you'll be back in L.A. before you know it."

Nico sighed shortly, a heavy scowl on his face. Finally, he said, "I hope you're right. Look, I gotta go, I'm already late. See you later."

"Yeah," Percy responded as Nico started to walk away. "And Nico. Relax, okay? You're starting to look like a zombie." Nico gave a wry smirk before turning on his heel and jogging off down the street.

Annabeth was curious about the snippet of conversation she'd just overheard, but at the moment she had other things to worry about. As Percy shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and made to head the other way, she stepped out from her cover of shadows and said calmly, "Wasn't that touching?"

Percy spun around, his hand reaching for something inside his jacket, but he froze when he laid eyes on her, the glare on his face fading to guarded alarm. "Annabeth," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"You did invite me," she pointed out.

His eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. "So which invitation are you answering?"

Annabeth shrugged. "I haven't decided yet." She stepped forward, then reached into her own jacket and pulled out her 45-millimeter—the same gun she'd used to try and kill him the previous night. As she raised her arm steadily and took aim, he tensed, his eyes going to the barrel less than five feet from his chest. "You gave me an ultimatum," she said, watching him carefully in case he tried to run or fight her. "Now I'm giving you one." She took a steadying breath, eyes closing for half a second, and told him the honest conclusion she had finally come to. "I do have feelings for you. But I'm not ready to throw my entire career away by messing up a job I don't fully understand. If you help me—If you tell me who you are and why the CIA wants you dead, then… I may be willing to see where this goes."

She could see his jaw tighten as he continued to stare at the barrel of her pistol, his eyebrows drawing together and his gaze hardening. He must have been weighing his options—doing exactly what Annabeth had spent the entire day on. Then his eyes flitted up to meet hers and he asked stiffly, "And if I don't?"

She'd been prepared for that. A determined glare placed itself on her face and her finger tightened on the trigger—an act that didn't go unnoticed by her target, whose eyes darted downward again—as she answered, "Then I do what I was assigned to do."

Both of them were silent for what felt to Annabeth like hours. She held her grip on her gun as she watched him, taking in the signs that he was considering her offer—his jaw sliding stiffly back and forth, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed, his chest and shoulders shifting irregularly with his breathing. For her, either option would be something of a success—either she discovered his identity, or she killed him and completed her assignment. She couldn't decide which she wanted more, or which she was more afraid of.

Finally, he sighed heavily and seemed to relax, his gaze falling to the ground as he shook his head. Annabeth frowned, readying herself to pull the trigger, until he looked up at her and said, "Follow me." She was unable to keep her eyes from widening slightly—was she really about to finally get to the bottom of this abnormal assignment? Without a word, she lowered her gun (though she was sure to keep a firm grip on it, just in case) and followed him back into the Grapevine.

Inside, the place was more dimly-lit than during its open hours. Only the lights over the bar remained on, casting the rest of the room in odd, purple shadows. No music was playing, save for a faint humming that Annabeth realized was coming from the owner, Damien Fresch, who was standing by the cash register nearest to the front door and counting profits.

Damien looked up at the disturbance and scowled at them. "What have I told you about bringing girls in here after hours, Jameson?"

"Jackson," Percy corrected him automatically. "And don't blame me, it was her idea." He shot his boss a smirk and added, "Trust me, you don't want to get on her bad side."

Damien looked Annabeth up and down in a calculating sort of way and she frowned, mildly affronted at being accused like that. "Just keep it down," he finally said through gritted teeth. "I need to hear myself count."

As Percy led Annabeth behind the bar, through the kitchen, past a flight of stairs leading up, and into a wide storeroom, she felt like smacking her forehead. "Great," she grumbled aloud. "All that time and effort spent clearing my name, and now people are gonna start thinking I'm a skank. 'Annabeth Chase, the girl who sneaks into closed bars with men'. And speaking of which, what was with that 'what have I told you' comment? How many girls have you brought back here?"

Percy clucked his tongue as he shut the door and turned around. "Damien makes everything sound worse than it is," he said, waving his hand. "That happened _once_, and he acts like I make it a habit. Anyway, I guess we—" He broke off suddenly, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch and locking onto hers. "Wait. Did you say 'Chase'?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes, assuming he must have missed her name when she said it last night. Either that, or there wasn't time for him to make fun of it. "Yes, an assassin named 'Chase'," she said with a beleaguered sigh. "Laugh all you want, it's not like I haven't—"

"You're not related to Adelyn Chase, are you?"

Annabeth's voice died on her tongue. It can't have been a good sign that he brought up Adelyn. "You know my mother?" she said stiffly.

"Your…?" he stammered, shock crossing his face. "Wow. I didn't know Adelyn had a daughter." He laughed weakly, running a hand through his hair. "I guess you and I are more alike than I thought."

"What does that mean?" she shot back suspiciously. "How do you know my mother?"

"Old business partner," he replied. "I only met her a few times. She didn't exactly like me." He scratched his head and added, "Can't say the feeling wasn't mutual."

_Definitely_ not a good sign. When Adelyn was arrested, Annabeth had only been twelve years old, which meant that Percy must have been around the same age. And as far as she knew, Westinghouse didn't hire twelve-year-olds. That meant that by 'business partner', he must have been referring to Adelyn's _other_ job.

A cold feeling washed over Annabeth as she said in a hushed voice, "So you _are_ involved with Olympus."

"'Involved', huh?" Percy repeated with a wry smile, a hand over the tattoo on the back of his neck. "That's, uh… one way to put it." His smile suddenly looked nervous to Annabeth, and she breathed in sharply, waiting until he went on haltingly, "Have you ever heard of a man named Parker Grace?"

"Of course," she replied, not sure where he was going. "The entire CIA is after him. He's one of the three Grace brothers—the leaders of Olympus." All agents of her level were taught that Olympus was divided into three primary factions—an east-coast division, a west-coast division, and a central division. Each was headed by one of the three Grace brothers, Ezekiel, Parker, and Harley—codenames Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, respectively. They were the only members of the organization that the CIA knew by name, not that it did them any good. The brothers were notoriously difficult to pin down.

"Yeah," Percy agreed, confirming one of the few facts the CIA had on Olympus. Then he tilted his head to the side and his expression turned vaguely uncertain when he added, "He's also my father."

Annabeth's train of thought screeched to a grinding halt and she stared at him in wonder and shock. "Poseidon is your _father?_" she repeated in disbelief. He lifted a shoulder in a gesture of assent and she went on, "But… That would make you—"

"The heir to the biggest criminal organization in the country," he finished the sentence for her. She fell silent, trying to allow this information to sink in. He watched her warily, as though he expected her to raise her gun and shoot him point-blank. And if she could move her limbs, she might have.

"I thought you said your father owned an apartment complex in Queens," she pointed out weakly, grasping at straws.

"He does," Percy answered with a shrug. "But it's mostly a front. He only leases to, uh… particular clients."

"But…" Annabeth argued, part of her wanting to prove him wrong but knowing that probably wasn't possible. "But that doesn't make any sense. If you're so important, why would Atlas send me to kill you? Why not bring you in for questioning?"

"Questioning?" he said skeptically. "Yeah, right. The members of Olympus—none of us are big talkers. I think Atlas learned that when he got his hands on Tammy. He probably thinks it'd strike a bigger blow to just take me out—and he's probably right." He glanced to the side, and she got the sudden feeling that there was more to the story—but then again, lying seemed to be the basis of their relationship so far.

She pushed that thought aside. "Tammy?" she backtracked. She had never heard that name before—at least not where Olympus or the CIA were concerned.

"Tammy Archer," Percy explained. "You probably know her as Artemis. She and her brother Paul are our head combat technicians and trainers."

This was all way too much. Annabeth was trained to be calm under pressure, but where it came to Olympus, her guard was always weaker. "So… that rumor about Atlas apprehending Artemis. It actually happened."

"Damn straight, it happened," Percy said with a scowl. "I was the one who got her out."

"What?" she responded in surprise. "But that was years ago. You had to be—"

"Sixteen," he confirmed with a curt nod. "And technically, I wasn't even supposed to be on that mission. But I was never really one for staying put when they told me to."

"I don't believe this…" she muttered, shaking her head and taking an unconscious step backward.

After a long silence, he spoke up, "Now you know why the CIA wants me dead." His fingers twitched at his sides and he curled his hands into fists, then he asked carefully, "So what do _you_ want?"

Anger boiled inside Annabeth as she thought about Olympus and everything she had lost because of them. With a frustrated growl, she gripped her gun in both hands and raised it swiftly to eye level, bringing the barrel an inch from Percy's face and aiming directly between his eyes. He tensed but didn't flinch, his gaze going to the gun and his eyebrows angling just barely, telling her that some part of him had expected this outcome and was—as strange as it seemed—saddened by it. He swallowed hard but made no effort to move or knock her weapon aside.

As she looked into his sea-green eyes, her resolve already brittle and cracking like thin ice, that look on his face broke her. She knew right then that she couldn't kill him—would _never_ be able to kill him. Her own twisted and confused feelings for him were too strong to allow that to happen. So instead, she did the only other thing she could think of that made sense.

She ran.

She lowered her gun, ducked her head low, and ran from the storeroom—from her failed assignment, from the truth she'd wanted so badly to learn, and from the criminal who intrigued and enticed her so much more than she'd ever experienced before. She ran because for the first time in a long time, she was afraid. Afraid of the future, of what consequences her actions would bring. All the work she had put into her reputation over the years would be nothing—gone because of her own foolishness and selfish desire.

Some part of her insisted that it wasn't over—that there was still time for her to go back and correct her mistake, finish her job. All she needed to do was remember the resolve that had driven her since she was twelve, the anger and resentment she bore for the mafia organization that had, in her eyes, ruined her life and taken away her mother—her mother who'd been kind and loving and who'd always supported her and pushed her to do her absolute best—who had, essentially, made her the woman she was today. And now, she had a chance to weaken the very same organization that had weakened her. All she had to do was turn around and go back.

But she didn't. Instead, she ran without slowing and without looking back. When she finally stopped, too out of breath to continue, she was surprised to find herself in front of the public, twenty-four-hour gym that her target frequented. Maybe her body was so used to his routine that his usual haunts were starting to become her own. She stood outside and glared at the building for a long time before deciding that because it was Saturday, he wouldn't be coming. So she went inside. She needed to hit something, after all, and a gym was the perfect place to do that.

It felt good to release some of her pent-up frustration on a few unsuspecting punching bags, but even the exertion wasn't enough to distract her mind from the mess she'd gotten herself into. But really, a distraction wasn't what she needed. What she needed was time to think. Her mother had always taught her that a clear and calculative mind could get you through any trouble. Now, she realized that it was time to put that belief to the test.

Body moving reflexively—left jab, block, right hook, kick, block—Annabeth allowed her mind to wander back to the previous night—the night she was supposed to kill Percy Jackson. She'd faced opponents with similar personalities before, people who were nice and friendly and seemed to be so normal and innocent. She'd even had her doubts about some of the others, but never before had she gone so far as to deliberately go against her orders—to have the perfect chance to take someone out and _choose_ not to. And this time, she'd done it more than once. There were a number of times in the past day that she could have killed Jackson, and every one of them she'd allowed to pass her by.

The reason for that, however, required a bit more explanation. She thought back to the moment everything had crashed—the moment when she'd kissed him. She had had to kiss a target a few times before, but never because she'd _wanted_ to. Not until last night. She hadn't realized it at the time, but all the while she'd been fighting him, she'd also been fighting a part of herself—her own inexplicable attraction to him. And when she'd given into it, all bets were off.

Now, a day later, she couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of fluke that had caused her to act and think that way, or maybe something he did to try and distract her. She knew, right then, that she had to find out. If what she thought she'd felt wasn't real, then maybe she could finally take him down and rid herself of all this trouble.

But if it was, then she would have to decide if it was worth giving up the life she'd come to know.

* * *

**Woo! Things are starting to roll now! Next week my update will probably be a day early since I'm going out of town on Thursday. I also found out there are gonna be 20 chapters in this story, including the prologue and epilogue. Though, the second half of the chapters are all a lot longer than the first half, so we're not technically half done yet, word-count-wise. Trust me, a lot of crap happens in the second half of this.**

**Drop me a review on your way by! Thanks, gang - later days!**

**-oMM**


	10. Ninth

**Hi everybody! Like I said, I'm going out of town tomorrow, so I'm updating a day early. Ready for some more advancement and a bit of storytelling? Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter, and welcome all new followers! Gonna be a fun ride! Heh heh.**

**Enjoy!**

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Close your _eyes_ and please don't **let** me _go_ / Close your _eyes_  
Don't let me **let **you _go_

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Annabeth didn't sleep that night. She didn't even try, knowing it would be hopeless. Instead, she sat in the living room of her apartment with the television on, her eyes trained on the screen without really seeing whatever it was displaying. And she waited.

A few hours after sunrise, she left her apartment almost robotically and caught a train into Brooklyn. She had spent all night steeling herself in her decision, and it was all riding on what she was about to do. She was tired of being confused and angry, and all she wanted was her confidence and security back. And for that, she would do whatever it took.

The morning air in Highland Park was cool and refreshing, chilly but not uncomfortably cold. Very few people were out and about at the park that Sunday morning, but there were enough that no one gave Annabeth a second glance—not even when she wandered alone into a secluded area of the park and leaned against a tree, almost hidden from sight. She knew her target's jogging route would lead him right past her, and give her the perfect opportunity to catch him alone and off guard.

She waited almost half an hour before he finally emerged through the trees, and when she stepped out to intercept him, her face an expressionless mask, he skidded to halt so fast he almost lost his balance.

"You," he said immediately, taking a step backward and dropping into a defensive stance. He was dressed in basketball shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt that bared the muscles on his arms, which, strangely enough, Annabeth found both exhilarating and intimidating. That only proved to show her that she needed to go through with this. Now. "Here to finish the job?" he asked, his voice calm but his expression guarded and wary, like he was ready to defend himself if need be. Last night, he would have let her kill him. Today, he wasn't going down without a fight.

But for the first time, that wasn't what she'd come for. She watched his eyes glance her over and his eyebrows crease in a small frown as he realized she wasn't holding a weapon. She stepped forward and walked toward him, the look on his face shifting between alarm and confusion. Before he could decide whether or not to attack her, she grabbed the front of his shirt, clutching the fabric in her hands, and pulled him toward her, pressing her mouth firmly against his.

She could feel his surprise in his body language. He tensed and reflexively jerked backward, but she didn't let go, instead wrapping one arm around his neck and twisting her fingers in his hair. This kiss wasn't as heated as the ones two nights ago—the first and every one that had followed as she'd spent the night with him—but to her, it didn't mean any less. A smooth, comfortable warmth spread through her body. Every inch of her skin tingled with excitement. Stars exploded behind her eyes—her own personal fireworks show. She'd come because she was tired of being confused, of not understanding what she was feeling. But the visit had accomplished exactly what she'd meant it to—from the second their lips touched, she knew.

What she'd thought she'd felt the other night hadn't been a mistake or a fluke, a trick or any kind of strange magic. It was real. Though she couldn't put words to them yet, Annabeth's feelings for Percy were _real_. There was no mistaking it now.

When she finally leaned back and looked up at him, the look on his face was slightly dumbfounded, like he'd just been slapped. She might have laughed, if she hadn't just received a shock of her own. In fact, her expression was probably a perfect mirror of his.

"I think…" he said after a long minute, blinking a few times in quick succession, "I think we need to talk."

Finally, she felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward in a small smile. "I think you're right."

-0-0-0-

"So what gives?" Percy asked bluntly once they'd seated themselves on a bench in a small, wooded sitting area of the park. He twisted toward her, draping one arm behind the back of the bench. "What's going on with you?"

Annabeth breathed carefully in and out, closing her eyes a full five seconds before answering, "I don't want you dead."

He raised an eyebrow. "That makes two of us."

She gave him a pointed look. "I mean that… I like you. A lot. _I _do, not 'Anna'."

His eyes dropped to the grass to his left and he looked thoughtful for a moment, before finally he replied, "I guess… I like you, too."

Something inside her seemed to flip with excitement as he said this, but she pushed it down. "The problem," she went on carefully, tilting her head to the side, "is that no matter what _I _want, my bosses are already ringing your funeral bells. They'd fire me in a heartbeat if they knew the truth—probably throw me in prison, while they're at it. If I want to keep seeing you…"

"It's got to be in secret," he finished her thought, still frowning at the ground and looking worried. "We have to be extremely careful."

Annabeth nodded. "You realize how dangerous this is for me, right?" she asked, this having been at the forefront of her mind. Everything she had worked for was hanging in the balance. "I could lose my job."

Suddenly Percy's eyes fixed on hers and he said, "I could lose my _life_." Annabeth stared back at him, her voice dying at the serious look on his face. His voice softening, he went on, "Look, I know this isn't easy. But you're not the only one with something at stake here. If Zeke has any reason to think I'm passing information to the CIA, it won't matter who my father is. He'll kill me himself. Family or no family."

Then Annabeth realized that his worried expression hadn't been for her—it had been for himself. He was putting at least as much as she was on the table, maybe even more. Was it even worth the risk?

No, she wasn't going down that road again. It _was_ worth it. She knew it was.

She assumed that by 'Zeke' he'd been referring to Ezekiel Grace, figurehead of Olympus and, apparently, Percy's uncle. "Would Zeus really do that?" she finally asked, a little surprised. Then again, she had no idea what the leader of the central division of Olympus was like. If Percy's wry smirk was any indication, he was telling the truth.

"Trust me, he'd jump at the chance. He doesn't exactly, what's the word… _like_ me."

"Really?" Annabeth replied, raising her eyebrows. She smirked and said in a light, airy voice, "But you're so charming and adorable."

Percy laughed ruefully, lowering his gaze. "Thanks, but those are probably the last two words he'd use to describe me. He's hated me ever since I cost him—" He broke off, his eyes darting toward Annabeth before sliding away, uncertainty on his face.

Annabeth frowned. "What? You can tell me."

"Look, no offense," he said, "but if Kronos got word of the things I know, it could spell major danger for everyone I care about."

She breathed out sharply, understanding his reluctance. "You can trust me," she said, her voice careful.

After a minute, he said, "You have to promise me that anything I tell you stays between you and me. I want to trust you, but I need to protect my family."

Annabeth wondered if her resentment for Olympus would allow her to keep a promise like that. But when she looked into Percy's eyes, she realized that she wanted more than anything for him to trust her, and for him to feel close to her. "I promise," she said without having to think about it.

He studied her for a long few seconds, before asking abruptly, "You know the band Strikedown?"

She blinked in confusion. "Sure," she answered. Strikedown was a punk-style indie rock band based in London that had debuted about six years ago. The only reason Annabeth knew them was because Rachel loved to listen to their music while she painted—said it brought out her artistic side. But why Percy would bring them up now, she had no idea.

That is, until he explained, "Their lead singer, Thalia? She's my cousin."

"Your cousin," Annabeth repeated, surprised. Then realization struck her and she went on, "Don't tell me. Zeus's daughter."

"You got it," he answered predictably. "We were good friends when we were kids—between school and training with the organization, we spent a lot of time together, us and… and my Uncle Harley's kids." Annabeth didn't miss the way he stopped and changed direction mid-sentence, but before she could ask about it, he'd moved on. "The four of us were supposed to inherit control of the organization one day. Thalia was head heir, being Zeke's kid and all, and the oldest out of all of us. I was set to run the east-coast division after my dad, and Harley's kids the west-coast after him.

"Then Thalia formed Strikedown in high school, and her gigs and practices started interfering with family stuff. She told me one day she was… having second thoughts about the organization, about what she wanted. Obviously Zeke didn't like that. He told her to quit the band and focus on her future, but of course she didn't." He looked across the park and watched a few kids playing on a jungle gym, but the misty look in his eyes suggested that he wasn't really seeing them. "Then when she was eighteen, her band got scouted by a rep from a British record label that was visiting the States—wanted to sign them. Only problem was, they'd have to move to London. When she told her dad, he… didn't take it well. Ordered her not to go. Thing about Thalia, though—she hates being told what to do. Always has. But at the same time, I think she kind of wanted some real help, you know? So she came to me."

"And you told her to go," Annabeth guessed.

Percy looked back at her and gave a small, somewhat sad smile. "I didn't want her to leave any more than Zeke did, but I could tell it was what she wanted. So I told her she could go and give it a shot, or stay here with her father and… wonder for the rest of her life what would have happened. …So she left, and she didn't come back. I still talk to her now and then—keep up with how she's doing and all. But Zeke, he all but disowned her the minute she boarded the plane."

He sighed, glancing down at the empty bench space between them. "Now he's got no heir, and worse, he blames me. Thinks if I hadn't told Thalia to go, she'd still be here, following his orders like the obedient little girl he always wanted her to be. Doesn't help that I'm next in line. He probably thinks I made her leave to secure her position, or something stupid like that. I don't think he gets that not everyone's as selfish as he is."

Annabeth cracked a smile. "Sounds like you'd better not let him hear you say that."

"You're probably right," Percy agreed. "Like I need to give him another reason to hate me. He's probably already trying to discover the secret to immortality just so Nico and I never inherit the organization at all."

She was about to laugh, until a piece of his sentence caught her attention. "Wait, Nico?" she repeated. "That gloomy kid?"

Percy winced like he'd been poked with a needle—maybe he hadn't meant to mention his friend. "Y… Yeah," he finally said slowly. "He's… actually my cousin, too. Son of my Uncle Harley, also known as Hades. Heir to the west-coast division, and second in line after me for head command."

"Wow," Annabeth muttered. She'd guessed from the beginning that Nico had been involved in the same thing as Percy (and the conversation she'd overheard outside the Grapevine the previous night had all but confirmed it), but she hadn't quite guessed how much. "I thought you guys seemed close the other night."

He smiled, as if remembering something. "Really, besides my mom, Nico's the closest thing to family that I've got. Him and me… Well, we've been through a lot together. He's more like my brother than my cousin."

She almost asked about his father, until she remembered how tight his voice had gotten when they'd discussed him briefly at the café two days ago and thought better of it. Instead, she said, "I thought you said Hades had two kids."

His smile faded instantly and for a moment, she regretted bringing it up. "He did," he answered. "Nico's sister Bianca, she was my age." Annabeth didn't miss the word 'was', and couldn't be surprised when he explained, "She died, about five years ago. Bianca and Nico, they grew up in Italy with their mother. They moved to Los Angeles when he was ten and she was twelve, to start training with their dad. They moved back and forth between here and there, so we didn't see them much for a while. But after Thalia left, Harley thought it'd be a good idea for them to spend some time here in New York. It was… almost two years after that."

"What happened?"

He glanced toward her and shook his head. "The exchange was supposed to be simple. You know, until the… CIA got involved." His eyes traveled out over the park, avoiding Annabeth's. "Bianca got caught in the crossfire."

Annabeth felt a twinge in her heart at the bitterness in his voice and she thought of apologizing, but for what, really? Five years ago, she had only been beginning college. She hadn't joined the CIA yet. And even if she had, if it had been her who intercepted the exchange, would she have exercised any more restraint? Probably not, she knew. This was Olympus. And where it came to Olympus, she had no soft spots.

At least, not at the time. Now, she might have had _one_.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Percy finally went on, "Nico moved back to L.A. after that. The next time I saw him, he was different. More serious, focused only on the organization and nothing else. I know what it is, he just doesn't want to lose anybody else. And I don't blame him, I feel the same way. It's why we stick together. The Grace brothers started off with five heirs, and now they're down to two. Nico and me… We've got a lot of people to look out for—each other, most of all. If anything happened to that kid, I'd…" He gave a light, forced sort of laugh and a wry smirk, but Annabeth could tell that the humor wasn't sincere. Underneath it, he was serious. He really didn't want to lose what was important to him, just like her.

Once again, something he said struck with her. "You said 'five' heirs." She quickly counted in her head—Percy, Thalia, Nico, Bianca—that was only four. "Who is—?"

"Hey, we've been talking about me all morning," Percy interrupted her with a grin—though she'd noticed a pained look cross his face not a second before. "I want to hear something about you."

Annabeth wanted to argue, but regardless of his reasons, he had a point. They _had_ been talking about him all morning. She owed him some information about herself. "Like what?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Why'd you join the CIA?"

That was an easy one. She explained to him in as much detail as she felt comfortable with what had happened with her mother—though, some of the story he already knew. She told him how she was looked down on and disrespected all through high school, and how she wanted nothing more than to clear her family name. When it came to her motivation, she was reluctant to express how her resentment for Olympus—his own family and friends—was what drove her, but he'd been honest with her about his cousin Bianca, who was killed by the CIA, so she didn't hold the information back. He didn't seem surprised, but nor did he seem remorseful. He accepted her feelings and didn't question them. In fact, it felt almost like they were disagreeing about a type of music or a flavor of soda, rather than the moral integrity of each others' career paths. And the strangest thing was that it wasn't as uncomfortable as she would have thought. Spending the day talking with Percy was almost enough to convince Annabeth that everything was right in her world—that she hadn't just made a decision that could very well get her arrested and him killed.

Almost.

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**Not very exciting, I know. But I needed to get some background in there and this was really the only way to do it. Next chapter's a bit more fun and eventful, promise, haha.**

**So how 'bout a review? Yes? Pretty please? See you guys next week!**

**-oMM**


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